Stan
by Xdaisy chainX
Summary: With murders happening in Bayport, how can the Hardys not get involved? But is this one mystery which would have been best left alone? An older Hardys fic.
1. Chapter 1

Well, it's been a long time but I am back in the fanfiction seat. I think my days of Supernatural fiction are well and truly over. But I've always had a soft spot for the Hardy brothers which was recently reignited. There's so few 'older Hardy' fics out here that I figured I'd just go for it and make my own. This is an evolving story which started when my brain imagined the end game. So the beginning and middle are not strictly there yet. But I will aim to get at least one update a week done until this is finished. Maybe even more. I was going to wait until this was finished to post but I admit, I got over excited and went for it.

I don't have a beta so feel free to point out any glaring mistakes. I have proof read it a few times but you know how it is. Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

Frank Hardy leant back in his chair. An ear splitting yawn accompanied the hollow sound of his back cracking as he rolled into a satisfying stretch.

"Gross Frank, you know that goes through me," Joe Hardy frowned at his brother as Frank shot a grin across his desk towards the younger man.

"Don't ever deny a man a good stretch when he's getting towards the end of his working day little brother," quipped Frank, settling himself back into his chair. Grabbing the mouse of his computer he saved the open documents as he began the process of winding down.

Joe grumbled as he shuffled the stack of papers he had been pretending to work on for the last hour, his mind drifting towards thoughts of the home cooked meal Vanessa had no doubt started making. Stacking them neatly, he dropped the pile onto the top of the clutter of pencils, staples, wrappers and other detritus littered across his desk and nodded satisfied.

Frank shook his head, chuckling as he eyed the performance. It seemed a little ridiculous to him that his brother bothered to be so neat with his paperwork when his desk was so entirely messy. Turning off the computer he stood, grabbing his coat and breaking into another yawn.

"Who would have thought spending the day catching up on the paperwork could tire you out so much?" he said, rubbing at his eyes.

"I could, I could have told you that hours ago. In fact, I did. I distinctly remember saying paperwork is probably the most boring thing on the planet, even worse than a day shopping with Vanessa and boy does that woman know how to shop," Joe said a little petulantly. Frank knew that Joe's least favourite part of being a private investigator was the paper trail that came with the territory.

"Well you knew as well as I did when we got into this business with dad, it couldn't all be chasing bad guys and swindling smugglers," he chuckled. His grin getting a little wider as Joe rolled his eyes at him before getting up from his chair and grabbing his own jacket.

"Yeah, funny how he suddenly decides he's in the middle of a 'huge case' the second we mention the growing pile of paper based fun," Joe grouched, switching off his lamp and heading for the door. He shuddered a little as he stepped outside, the winter wind whistling through the opened doorway and chilling him to his bones. Standing in the dark of the evening he waited for Frank to lock up the shutters, pulling his jacket closer and zipping it all the way up to his neck.

The brothers walked in companionable silence, side by side, away from the small office building now shrouded in darkness and bearing a sign reading 'Hardy and Sons'. Heading towards the car park opposite, their shadows danced ahead of them as they trudged under the street lamps. Their breath was visible in the frosty air, their shoulders bowed in a vain attempt at staving off the cold.

"Well I'll see you tomorrow bright and early," said Frank, pulling out the keys to his car "we only made a small dent in the admin today." Laughing to himself at the groan emitted from the recesses of Joe's van, he hopped behind the wheel, turning on the in car heating as he beeped a good bye to his brother and headed back to his apartment.

Fenton Hardy, renowned private detective, had approached his sons the day after they had each graduated high school with an offer for them to join his business as fully fledged investigators. Though they had both pretty much expected the offer to be there waiting for them, it had come as a pleasant surprise and the men had been excited at the opportunity. However, they each wanted to first pursue a full education and Fenton had been only too glad and more proud to watch both of his sons enter college and achieve degrees. Thus Frank returned home qualified in Criminal Psychology and Justice to begin working with his father, joined a year later by Joe sporting his equally impressive degree in Criminology. Fast-forward two years and the young men had well and truly settled into business with their father, and Hardy and Sons had an established name and a steady stream of custom.

Joe sighed a little as he drove, grimly amused as he thought about the bulk of the cases that Hardy and Sons were called upon to solve. Mostly jealous lovers or over bearing parents which offered little more than mind numbing surveillance but, as Fenton so often reminded them, kept the electricity running. Although he didn't revel in the super dangerous side of investigating which usually resulted in one or more of the Hardys bloodied and bruised, he was hard pushed to kid himself that they weren't the more exciting cases.

He grinned as he noted the lights of his and Vanessa's apartment, which almost seemed to shout of warmth and comfort, the grin getting a little wider as he entered their home and the smell of lasagne assaulted his senses. As he had correctly predicted, Vanessa had been cooking.

* * *

The next day saw the brothers once again arriving to work, trotting a little to escape the frost of the early morning. Entering the building Joe blew on his hands after removing his gloves, his first move being to turn on the coffee pot as Frank fiddled with the thermostat. First one in makes the coffee being the unwritten but universally understood rule of the Hardy men.

As the smell of coffee began to permeate the room, they headed to their respective desks removing their winter layers as the heating started to kick in.

"Hey Joe...look at this," Frank said, his tone unusually grave considering his annoying habit of being one of _those_ morning people.

Normally Joe wouldn't have bothered dignifying his brother with a response, the second unwritten but universally understood Hardy rule being that Joe doesn't wake up until his second cup of coffee. But the tone of his brothers voice broke through even the youngest Hardys morning haze and had his spidey senses tingling.

Tossing Joe the paper Frank lent against the front of his desk, arms crossed, as Joe's eyes flicked through the front page article widening a little with each sentence.

"Heh..." was his less than eloquent reply.

"...What do you mean 'heh'..." Frank asked, a little incredulously "there was a body found on the outskirts of town and your answer to that is..'heh'?"

"I'm sure that once I have been correctly caffeinated to a respectable level I'll be able to come up with a reply that Shakespeare himself would be in awe of," Joe said more than a little sarcastically "but until that point oh brother of mine, you will have to grin and bear my answer of 'heh'".

With that, Joe stood and headed to the coffee pot with a pronounced air of self importance, pouring himself a cup and wiggling his eyebrows at Frank over the rim.

Frank couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter as he strolled to fill up his own cup before returning to his desk and fixing a mock look of awe on Joe as he waited for his response.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh," Joe sighed in exaggerated contentment before fixing his eyes on his steadily frustrated growing brother. "Well what the hell are you waiting for Frank? Let's go check this out."

* * *

Pulling up to the tell tale crime scene tape in Joe's van a little later the cloud of amusement died, replaced with a steady professional air on the part of both brothers. Seeing the familiar figure of Con Riley the Hardys exited the vehicle shutting the doors at almost identical times. The noise alerted Con who whipped around angrily clearly spoiling to fight with what he assumed to be more Goddamm reporters.

His features markedly relaxed into a grim smile of recognition as the brothers approached.

"I wondered how long it would take for you two to show up" he said with a forced chuckle. The attempt at dry humour was a little lost with the air of tense sadness that hung round the officer.

"You know us Con, always on the job," Joe replied with a sympathetic smile. It was clear to both brothers that the homicide was affecting the man's professional air more than the handbook said it should. Bayport was not known for it's high murder rate after all.

Con blew out his cheeks and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead before re-focusing his gaze upon the brothers. "So what do you want to know?"

Although not part of the Police force officially, the Hardys were allowed a little more access than your average civilians due to their pretty impressive track record with Bayport's finest, and also the continuing friendship of both Con and the chief of police himself, Ezra Collig.

"Anything you can give us Con," Frank said, equally sympathetically.

"Well the victim was a young female. Blonde, in her twenties we reckon although she doesn't have any id on her...or it was stolen," Con said, frowning as the memory of the girls staring eyes flashed in his head "happened yesterday night as far as the coroner can tell without a full post mortem."

At these words Con sighed again before continuing "single gunshot wound to the head. Execution style. Looks like there was a bit of a struggle and she put up a fight. But not many people can win against a point blank shot."

The three men looked at the ground in a moment of respect for the memory of the poor girl now lying on the slab of the county mortuary.

"Have CSI found anything?" Frank asked.

"A few fibres but nothing too hopeful," Con said in frustration "she was left to the elements for a few hours before she was found, and the perp apparently cleaned up after himself. Probably watched one too many crime shows."

Frank let out a humourless bark of laughter before patting the officer once on the shoulder, "we'll find him Con," he said "after all, your guys are going to be chomping at the bit now."

Con nodded stoically before turning back to the tape and the small white marquee erected over the crime scene saying almost to himself "before he strikes again."

Knowing they had been gently dismissed the Hardys turned to go back to the van. Joe stormed ahead, tension almost visibly radiating from his shoulders. Frank eyed his little brother sadly. He knew what would be going through his mind. Thoughts of Iola Morton, ripped from the world at a tragically young age. It might have happened seven years ago, but the pain was still apparent on Joe's face on occasion when his guard slipped or Iola was mentioned. He was in a perfectly happy relationship with Vanessa, but the violent death of his first love had carved him into the man he was today.

Watching his brother get into the van, he winced as the door was slammed shut with more force than was strictly necessary. Trotting slightly to catch up, Frank entered the passenger side and noted Joe's white knuckle grip on the wheel, and the intensely focused expression on his face.

"We have to find this guy Frank," he said tersely.

"We will," Frank said quietly but with conviction.

The Hardy van rumbled to life and sped off slightly faster than it normally would. Chuckling to himself from his vantage point in the darkened alley way, the man's eyes flashed wickedly after seeing the distant exchange and the younger Hardy's reaction. Step one of his plan had fallen beautifully into place.

* * *

Well there you go. Chapter one, done! I have attempted to stick to the cannon of the old books, more I guess in regard to the boys personality traits than anything else. I have taken the liberty of making up their college careers (incidentally, I am from the UK and don't really know how college works in the US other than it apparently lasts four years making the guys 24/25 for my story. If this is wrong then feel free to correct me..gently).

I considered making their degrees more computer based for Frank and maybe sport/history based for Joe as I remember this being their interests. But I figured that with them planning on going into the family business as it were, they would probably settle for something more crime based.

Anyways, all comments are appreciated. Critiques included. My writing skills are a little rustier than I would like so all help is appreciated.

Cheers!

Sarah

(Edit: had to go back and change a couple of things I mixed up/got wrong. Thanks to Caranath for spotting them and keeping me right!).


	2. Chapter 2

Joe slammed the door to Hardy and Sons as he entered, needing to blow off a little steam so his brain could get down to thinking. Frank, bringing up the rear and shutting the door with a little more care than it received when it was opened, saw his brother take a deep and calming breath before turning to face him.

"Ok, I'm done," he said, his eyes betraying that he didn't quite believe that himself either "let's get down to it."

The brothers spent the rest of the morning systematically working through missing peoples reports from the last week for Bayport and the surrounding areas, while at the same time consuming their respective weights in caffeine. Eliminating all but the twenty something blondes from the pile left them with precisely no leads.

"Well," Frank said sighing and flopping back "that was a couple of hours well spent..."

Joe growled in frustration as he all but threw himself out of his chair and began pacing back and forth.

"Joe..." Frank began, before he was interrupted by the phone on his desk ringing. "Hardy and Sons investigations, Frank speaking," he said.

"Frank," came Con's voice from the receiver "we have an identity for the victim."

Frank sat a little straighter in his chair. He couldn't help but notice Con's use of the word 'victim' in an apparent effort to desensitise himself from the case as much as he could, pulling on the professional mask that officers needed to be able to get justice for the innocent. "Fire away Con."

Joe eyed Frank through narrowed eyes, his pacing stilled as his curiosity got the better of him. Walking slowly backwards, he perched himself on the side of his desk.

"Right...Rachel...Davies was that? Rachel Davies. Right, ok Con got it. Yeah, we'll come to you with anything we find. Good hunting." Frank hung up the phone and looked from the name he had scribbled on his handy note book up to his brother. "Well we have a name. Let's get to work."

Later, gathering the notes he had haphazardly scrawled across several pages in his haste to collect as much information as possible, Frank looked up to see his brother finish writing a sentence with a flourish before glancing over his own desk.

"Time to compare notes?" he said, standing as Frank nodded. They moved across to their father's desk which was helpfully clear of all clutter as he had taken most of his stuff with him on his latest assignment. An assignment which Frank had a sneaking suspicion was not as life or death as Fenton had made out. He secretly agreed with his brother's assessment concerning their father's eagerness to depart once he had been alerted to their growing pile of paperwork.

"Ok," Frank began as they both fanned out their respective pages of notes "as far as I've made out, Rachel Davies was a California native, college student, twenty one years of age with no siblings to speak of and apparently absent parents. They're 'like totally not even bothered about her existence,'" he added in his best typical west coast accent impression.

Joe snorted a little humourlessly, his mind drifting slightly as he thought about how Rachel wouldn't be around to think she was being ignored ever again.

"You found her 'online diary' too then?" he asked Frank wryly. "She sure loved to use her some social media..and from the looks of it, it was mostly as a platform to garner attention from her friends about her...everything," he added "although...not to speak ill of the dead or anything."

Frank smiled sadly before replying "it does look like she liked to keep everyone in the know of what was going on in her life via the internet..although I guess there are a lot of people out there who use this sort of thing for the same reasons."

"Why was she in Bayport anyways? For school?" Joe asked his brother.

Looking back at his notes, Frank grunted an affirmation and scanned quickly for the page he was after. "Yeah, she was in her second year and living with a girlfriend. Amanda Price...I think we may have to have a word with Amanda and see if she knew what she was doing in the hours leading up to her death."

"Let's do it tomorrow," said Joe "much as I want to crack into this case as quickly as possible, I think Amanda will probably need a little time to recover from the shock of what's happened once Con or whichever unlucky sonuvabitch that draws the short straw has notified her of Rachel's murder."

Frank considered Joe from the corner of his eye, taking in the lines of sadness on his face which had crept in once the wave of anger had left his younger brother's body. Joe may be all grown up now, but it was still very much his job to look out for him. Emotionally as well as physically.

Clearing his throat slightly he said "yeah...err, yeah you're probably right Joe. We can find out her address this evening and then spend the rest of the day gathering any more info on Rachel that we can."

Joe nodded in response and gathered up his pile of papers from Fenton's desk. Stepping towards his end of the room, he barely concealed the sigh that escaped him as he flopped back into his seat and began a second round of looking into the life of the murdered girl.

Frank taking the same cue, picked up his phone from his own desk and called through to Con to tell him of Amanda and see if the Police had had any luck with forensics.

* * *

Raking his filthy hands through his greasy hair, the man whimpered as he crouched in the corner of the darkened room, rocking slightly on his heels as if to comfort himself. Muttering slightly his rocking grew more erratic in time with his voice getting louder as the nonsense sounding words cumulated in a one word cry,

"STAN!"

The silence of the room seemed more complete as he clutched at his treasure, his movements finally still, and waited for the response he half dreaded but fully needed to survive.

After a few moments of nothing, he curled back in on himself and cried softly. Muttering and moaning as he once again resumed his rocking.

_Michael _

Stock still, the man waited. Not daring to believe that the voice had returned. Thinking for sure it had abandoned him as it once had before. But no, he would not think of those dark and silent times. It was too painful.

_Michael_..

Another cry, this time one of joy as he finally believe that his one and only friend had returned to him again.

"Staan," he half breathed. The happiness radiating through this one word.

_We did good Michael. You did good. I bet it felt good too didn't it Michael. Felt good to be in control again? Felt good to feel her blood on your hands..._

Michael's breath caught in his throat. Terror in his eyes as he remembered what he had done to that pretty girl. With the shining hair and the perfect smile. The bang had almost deafened him. But her hair had felt as soft as he knew it would. Even when it had become caked in blood. The squeak that escaped his lips was half horror...and half pleasure. He hadn't thought he could do it again. Taking control of himself for that moment and finding his voice to speak to such a radiant angel. And then to bring his fists down on her. Again and again and again and then...and then...He whimpered one more time. Tears coming to his eyes but a slight smile on his lips as he thought about it.

_We have more work to do yet Michael. Another girl to add to the collection. Another Angel for us Michael. With hair as soft as silk Michael...Michael._

Shutting his eyes, Michael sighed at the thought. Another beautiful girl he would get to look at from across the street. Another girl who's steps he could follow as he watched her walk. Listened to her voice. Her breath. And another girl with hair as soft as a kitten's fur. Which he could stroke and fondle until...

From his fixed position of resting on the backs of his heels, his movements having slowed to a stop as he thought of his angels, he suddenly threw himself forward and resumed his rocking. A howl of anguish and anger ripping from his throat. He was always able to play with the angels hair until _they_ came. With their flashing lights and their loud voices. Flurries of activity whilst he hid and observed. And whenever he raced back to where he had left the angel after they finally vanished days later, she would always, ALWAYS be gone.

_Yes Michael. They steal them from us don't they. They take our angels. But that is why we have to find a new angel Michael. A new angel. Tonight Michael. TONIGHT._

Michael's head snapped up as he was stationary once more. A look of desperation in his eyes which slowly morphed into one of longing, and finally a grin of purest happiness.

"Yes...yes. Another angel. An angel Stan! Stan an angel! Stan?...Stan..." A moment of despair crashed upon his face at the silence until,

_Come_..

With a whoop of pure joy he grabbed at his treasure and clutched it to his heart as he skittered from the darkness into the light of the setting sun, overjoyed at the thought of getting to play with a new angel.

* * *

Ta daa, chapter two! I don't think I am going to set in stone that I will updating daily, because I have work to think of and I just don't want to put that pressure on myself. But it will be regularly anyways.

I know this wasn't a particularly fast paced ...or lengthy chapter, but think of it as the lettuce part of this sandwich adventure. Not particularly tasty, but the sammich won't work without it!

As always, comments and critiques are always welcome, thanks.

Sarah


	3. Chapter 3

Okey dokey then, chapter three. Thanks a lot to the people who have taken the time to review. Especially with any handy hints, every little helps! Also, to my anonymous reviewer, don't worry. I plan on having the Hardys working as a team always. I won't ever go down the route of constant Joe bashing and over protective Frank should I write more Hardy based fics.

Onwards!

* * *

The next day Frank pulled up to Joe and Vanessa's apartment as they had planned before shutting up shop the previous evening. An afternoon spent rifling through Rachel Davies' internet trail hadn't really turned up anything of significance. Other than her stereotypical Californian gal image not being quite as clean cut as it maybe had first appeared if the pictures hidden in one of her many online profiles were anything to go by.

Joe had come across them as he'd accessed what felt like her thousandth internet account, the girl really did like to flaunt her life to anyone who cared to look. Steeling himself for trawling through another round of female chatter about parties and guys, and more comments from slimy male admirers who clearly had no self respect, his eye fell upon a folder of photos which looked a little different from the rest.

Clicking into them his eyebrows had lifted slightly as he clocked image after image of the girl he'd assumed to be just another air headed female hell bent on getting famous anyway she could, caught in various stages of absolute drunkenness. And in one picture in particular, taking a hit from a slightly suspicious looking pipe...

Adding a note to his growing pile of information, he had to admit to himself that even though it wasn't 'normal' behaviour, it wasn't particularly indicative of anything...she was a college student after all. Still, it could have gone some ways to accounting for why she happened to be alone and walking the streets of Bayport so late at night.

Frank thought of the photographs his brother had linked him to the day before as he exited his car and walked over to Joe's van. Hearing the front door of the apartment building shutting, he turned and nodded a hello as Joe walked towards him, carrying a piece of toast in one hand and his jacket over the other.

"Hello sunshine," Frank scoffed a little, noting how Joe's hair stuck up at odd angles. Never let anyone accuse Joe Hardy of being a morning person.

Joe grunted his response as he held his toast in his mouth whilst shrugging on his jacket. "Hilarious I'm sure. Jeeze, brr when did it get so freaking cold?"

"Strangely Joe, it always gets cold on our planet in the winter," Frank said, chuckling as Joe fixed him with a glare before biting into his toast and patting himself down for keys.

"Just get in the van comedian," he said, popping the locks and hauling himself in. "Did you get hold of Amanda this morning?"

"Yeah," Frank replied "she said it was fine for us to come over and talk once I explained what we do. She'd obviously been speaking to the police all day yesterday but she seems to want to help any way she can."

"Good," Joe said pausing "did she cry a lot?"

Frank snorted at his brothers less than articulate question, knowing that Joe 's strong point didn't lie in handling overly emotional females. "She seemed a bit weepy understandably but I shouldn't think you'll have too much trouble Captain Empathy.."

Joe just grumbled through a mouthful of toast as he reversed the van out of the lot and onto the road.

* * *

Pulling up to Amanda's apartment, neither Hardy could deny that they were in the rougher part of town. Whilst it didn't entirely fit under the heading of skid row, the lower rent prices had clearly appealed to a few less than savoury characters as well as the plethora of students looking for the cheapest digs available.

Pressing the buzzer, Frank became engrossed whilst eyeing the colourful use of language on the graffitied wall and jumped slightly as the door popped open.

Inside stood a young woman, much the opposite in colouring to what Rachel Davies had been but still strikingly pretty. Her olive skin spoke of an interesting family background and her auburn hair was the perfect shade to offset her hazel eyes. Eyes which were red rimmed and more than a little bloodshot.

"You must be the Hardys," she said with a small nod, almost as if steeling herself for the forthcoming questioning "please come in."

The flat was small but had a comfortable sort of vibe. The couch was threadbare but the colourful throws and mountains of cushions spoke of an easy style which didn't take itself too seriously. There was the seemingly mandatory pile of shoes in the corner and stacks of empty alcohol bottles on the tops of the cupboards. Joe chuckled to himself thinking how this was the almost universal décor of students.

Motioning to the sofa, Amanda took the seat opposite and curled up her legs, pulling a large cushion onto her lap and hugging it for support. "So," she began "what do you need to know?"

Looking at each other in silent communication for a moment, Frank took the cue to ask the first question. "We need to know, what was Rachel doing the night she was..." Amanda looked down on the ground at that moment. Clearing his throat a little, Frank continued, "the night she was murdered?"

Giving a shaky sigh, Amanda looked back up at Frank's face, and gave him a watery smile. "She would hate me for telling everyone her business, she was so like that. On that night she would have been at her support group."

Joe leaned forward a little at these words, "support group?" he asked "as in...for substance abuse?"

"Oh God no," Amanda said quickly "I mean, she liked to party..probably more than the next kid. But no, she has Obsessive Compulsive disorder. Or..had. She hated it so much so decided to finally do something about it. Said she couldn't stand people looking at her like she was a freak."

"Obsessive compulsive?" Frank asked "how severe are we talking?"

"Oh it wasn't anything too noticeable.." Amanda said trailing off slightly, her eyes clouding in remembrance "it was just little things. Like she would shut a particular drawer in the kitchen over and over..and open and close a door four times before she could come into a room...and she sometimes had a bit of a twitch. She could disguise it pretty well but I guess she always just felt like it was glaring obvious."

"So how long had she been going to the support group?" Joe asked.

"Not long, only a couple of weeks. Not long enough for it to have helped much anyways. She liked to go to the later groups so that no one would ever notice her coming out of the building. She said she didn't want people to know she had a problem..." at this, Amanda broke down sobbing.

At Joe's pained expression, Frank took over the interview entirely. Getting the girl a glass of water and a tissue and softly speaking to calm her down.

Thirty minutes later, the men left the apartment after thanking Amanda for her help. Joe blew out his cheeks once the door had closed behind them before focusing on his brother. "Well...not exactly out buying illegal substances as I pretty much expected."

"No.." said Frank "but maybe someone at the support group saw or heard something as they were leaving. Amanda said it was just a few blocks over from where she was found the next day."

Joe groaned a little at this suggestion. Both Hardys knowing that it was notoriously difficult, if not impossible, to get information about anyone who attended any sort of support group so hell bent on people's privacy as they were.

Frank was about to reply in agreement to his brother's outburst, when he felt his phone vibrating in his shirt pocket. Checking the caller id, he frowned a little as he saw Con's name. Opening it he answered before letting out a small groan himself and looking over to his brother. "They've found another one."

* * *

Pulling up next to a patrol car, the Hardys exited the van and walked towards the crime scene tape with a horrible sense of deja vu. A patrol-man the Hardys didn't recognise saw them and headed over clearly with the intention of warning them off the scene, when with a growl of frustration Con appeared.

"Out the way Alan, these guys are with me," he barked before heading over to the Hardys. "It's another girl. Another blonde. Same MO, bullet to the back of the head after one healluva beating."

The Hardys eyed each other for a moment before Frank said in hushed tones "serial killer?"

"Oh God," Con said, the colour going from his cheeks a little at the thought "God I hope not, not in Bayport, but it looks that way."

"CSI?" Joe said..trailing off a little at the look that Con gave him.

"Nothing...again...fibres that's all as far as we can see," he said, almost snarling in frustration.

"Well at least they can see if they match Con," said Frank, trying to give the officer any glimmer of hope to latch onto "then at least we will know for sure it's likely to be the same guy."

Con gave one curt nod before saying "I need to get this guy Frank. I can't have a serial killer lose in our town. Imagine what's going to happen when the reporters get wind of it."

"Maybe..." began Joe hesitantly "maybe it would be best to clue everyone in to this..I mean he obviously has a type right?"

"Are you INSANE!" Con said, saying the last word so harshly a little spit left his mouth "there would be mass panic. Public outcry, gah!"

Frank stepped forward to rest a steadying hand on Con's arm. "Con calm down, we understand. It just might be better if people are warned a little," he said glancing sympathetically at Joe's slightly mortified face after the officer's reaction to his statement.

"No absolutely not...not right now. It's early days yet," Con began "besides...two victims in doesn't mean he has a definite pattern. It could just be...coincidence. Besides which, reporting it on the news might cause him to start show boating."

"Right ok," Frank said soothingly "ok well, we're just going to have to redouble our efforts right? Stop him before...I mean if...if he strikes again."

Con span angrily and stormed off towards the standing group of officers, clearly raring to find the man responsible. Frank looked to Joe, motioning with his head towards the van. "Let's go see if we can't find any similarities between the victims."

Joe's clenched jaw was the only indication of the tension bubbling underneath his surface as he turned and followed Frank to the van.

* * *

After returning to the office, the Hardys spent the rest of the afternoon running notes against the two victims, the second having been identified easily by her library card as Nicola Atkinson. It was apparent, however, that her other id had been taken like Rachel's had before her.

They seemed entirely unconnected. Nicola didn't attend college and she had a steady job waiting tables. They didn't run in the same social circles and nor, from what they could gather, did they ever seem to have crossed paths.

Looking at the clock, Frank was shocked to see it was after nine in the evening. They had both been so engrossed in trying to find any tenuous connection between the girls that they had lost track of time. Knowing they could do no more for the evening, the boys locked up and left, heading to their vehicles deep in thought. Joe looked up to say the usual goodbye to Frank when something in the distance caught his eye. Narrowing his lids slightly, the younger Hardy focused on the movement.

The silhouette of a woman passed under one of the street lights before vanishing into the winter darkness. Shaking his head slightly, Joe made to turn back towards his van when more movement caught his eye. Two men side by side, heads bowed and apparently focused on the woman, were walking in what seemed like a possible attempt at silence.

Heart thumping, Joe whipped round to see that Frank had noticed the same thing. Without a word, they took off towards the street lamp the figures had walked under, running on the balls of their feet to minimise noise. As they reached the lamp they could finally make out the three people in the darkness, the woman still unaware of the two approaching targets.

Chests hammering, the Hardys ran forwards all thoughts of a surprise attack lost as they shouted "HEY!" in unison when the bigger of the two dark figures finally made his move and rugby tackled the woman to the floor.

Caught unaware, the woman let out a blood curdling shriek as she hit the ground. The smaller of the two thugs made to grab her handbag, turning slightly when he heard the raised voices and pounding footsteps of the Hardys.

Snarling, Joe threw himself forwards, putting on speed until he caught up with the taller man who was still scrabbling on the ground in an apparent attempt at subduing the panicking woman. Without slowing, Joe bear hugged the man's waist as he passed, throwing both himself and the attacker forward with his momentum and bringing them both to the floor.

Meanwhile, Small had managed to grab the woman's handbag and had taken off, not realising he had one of Bayport High's track team stars of yesteryear hot on his heels. Frank easily caught up to Small, throwing himself at the man's legs and bringing him down with a grunt. Small turned and brought a knee almost up to his face before lashing out and catching Frank fully on the shoulder with his foot. Growling in pain and frustration the older Hardy refused to let go of his struggling quarry and instead, climbing on his hands and knees crawled up the man and used his full weight to pin his flailing arms to the floor.

"Give up," he said simply, allowing himself a moment to try and catch his breath.

Small bellowed in anger as he attempted to free himself from under Frank's hands, but gave in when he realised he could not be budged. Instead he used as much power as he could and head butted Frank, only able to reach his mouth, with enough strength to split the Hardy's bottom lip open.

Frank, more annoyed than hurt grunted slightly as he flipped Small over onto his belly, twisting his arm back with more force than was...strictly necessary and eliciting a moan of pain from the gutless would be assailant. Hearing the wail of sirens in the distance, he allowed himself a moment to look back and check on his brother assuming either he or the woman had phoned the police.

Joe had knocked the air out of both himself and Tall when he had tackled him to the floor. Recovering a split second quicker than the man, he had thrown himself up and onto his feet ready to face him if he needed to. Tall rolled quickly onto his knees and eyed the younger Hardy with rage filled eyes.

At this Joe had half grinned, unconsciously relishing the chance to work off some of the tension the last two days had brought, and made a 'bring it' motion with his hand. From the corner of his eye he saw the woman, apparently unhurt, scrabbling about for what he supposed was her cell phone. Quicker than he bargained for, Tall kicked off from his lower position, hitting Joe's knees squarely and tackling him back to the floor with a grunt. Leaning back, he threw a ham fisted punch towards Joe's face who, anticipating the hit, rolled his head back managing to glance off most of the force of the blow. It still hit his cheek hard enough to break the skin and make him see stars for a moment.

Shaking his head, he looked up as Tall, laughing, pulled his fist back for round two. He didn't get the chance however as Joe manoeuvred both his legs into a kicking position, launching Tall back through the air where he landed on his back and slowly rolled onto his side groaning. Joe quickly leapt to his feet, grabbing Tall's arm back and pinning a knee into his quarry's lower back, letting out a panted laugh as the man moaned once again.

Joe brought the back of his free arm across his stinging cheek, wincing as he encountered the cut on his face,and pressed his knee into the man's back a little harder when he clocked the blood on his sleeve.

Swearing under his breath he looked up seeing a squad car, lights flashing, come tearing round the corner, squealing to a halt a few feet away as the doors simultaneously popped open.

"FREEZE!"

* * *

Lucky that lady decided to go and get jumped so close to Hardy and Sons eh? Hehehhehh

Some of my uni life came back to me whilst writing this chapter. We had an awesome house but the sofa was knackered...but so knackered it was hella comfy. We had a perpetual pile of shoes in the corner no matter how often we seemed to tidy, and the empty alcohol bottles on the cupboard. I also borrowed some of Rachel's OCD traits from a friend of mine who I was living with at the time. I'm sure he wouldn't mind though!

Anyways, all comments and critiques welcome!


	4. Chapter 4

Michael was back in the darkness he loved. The light was a terrible thing to him. He felt no joy in the warmth of the sun's rays. Light just meant people. And people had a knack of staring at him. Crazy Michael. Crazy Michael with the voices in his head. Don't speak to crazy Michael, noo. He might bite you. And crazy Michael had sharp teeth.

Moonlight, streaming in through the holes in the roof of the room he had claimed as his own, reflected slightly off of the shiny plastic coating of the pictures of his angels. His eyes sparkled in the cold light as he softly stroked first one face and then the other, his expression frozen in a mask of purest happiness. A tear rolled down his cheek from an unblinking eye as he thought of his angel lying on the floor again. The fingers of his other hand unconsciously running through his own hair as the memories flooded his head.

_Michael_

His fingers stilled as the voice rang in his mind . He didn't need to answer. He wouldn't. He was thinking of his angels. He didn't need him.

_Michael_

"No Stan." Michael had wanted more conviction in his voice, but all that had come out was a whisper.

_MICHAEL. Don't ignore me Michael. You can't ignore me can you? You need me Michael_

"NO!" A shout this time. Michael crumpled into himself, his arms hugging his head as he tried to shut out the voice. He didn't want Stan. He wanted his angels.

_I know why you're upset Michael. They took our angel again didn't they. Yes. Stole her away_

A choking sob wrenched from the tangle of arms and legs as he remembered the flashing lights and the people. Like always. They always came and ruined it. They always took her away.

_Michael, we can get another angel. A new angel_

"No," he breathed "no Stan. They take our angels always. We can't ever keep our angels."

_That's why we need another one Michael_

"No!"

_Don't make me angry Michael. You know what happens when I'm angry_

A shuddering gasp broke from his lips as he registered the threat. Fresh tears filling his eyes.

_Yes...I'll leave again Michael. I'll go away again. And this time, I won't be coming back_

"Stan," Michael said, openly weeping "no Stan, I'm sorry, don't leave me again, don't leave me alone."

Silence...a silence so complete it felt like a cloth sack had covered his head. Shutting out the world. Clogging his senses. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't see.

"STAN!"

His breathing became ragged as pure panic set in. His heart beating so fast it felt like it was ripping out of his chest.

"Okay!" He cried "another angel! Just don't...don't leave me!" Michael broke down completely now. His body boneless on the ground and wracked with huge sobs. One hand clutching for the pictures of his angels. The other spasming as it stroked his most treasured possession. For another agony filled moment there was nothing and then,

_Shhhh. Shhh Michael. I won't leave you. Not when there are angels in the world to add to the collection_

"Angels, angels," Michael said softly through his tears. Nodding as his pounding heart slowed its beating. His exhausted body unwillingly falling into a twitching sleep.

_Angelsss_

* * *

Joe Hardy groaned as he woke from a deep slumber, the sun streaming through his window straight into his eyes. Grunting a little, he rolled over to the side of the bed, swinging his legs around and hissing as he felt the aches in his body.

"Oh yeah," he said aloud to himself as the memories from the previous night flooded his mind.

The officers had both drawn their weapons, each pointing towards the Hardys and their quarries. Frank and Joe had eased their hands into the air and a moment of tension passed until one of the policemen gasped slightly in recognition.

"What the hell is going on here!"

"Alan?" said Frank, recognising the new officer from earlier in the day. Seeing the man's stance relax slightly he continued "these two knuckle heads decided they wanted to play with the lady over there, only they didn't ask nicely." He motioned with his head towards the woman who still sat frozen on the ground, silent tears streaming down her cheeks and blood dripping down her legs from ragged knees.

Seeing the woman, Alan's face snapped from confusion to grim understanding as he holstered his weapon.

"Stand down," he whispered to his partner, who relaxed and also snapped his gun back into his belt. "Alright," he continued, taking out his cuffs and walking to the thug Joe had incapacitated, "Stu, radio in for a medic whilst I deal with these clowns."

Only once the two men were safely in the back of the patrol car did Frank and Joe stop to take stock of their injuries. Joe limped over to his brother who was holding his left shoulder, blood streaming down his chin from the split in his lip.

"Well don't you look all rugged and masculine when you're bleeding," Joe quipped, apparently at ease but all the while checking Frank over with his eyes for any other serious injuries.

"Wait till tomorrow when you're sporting a big ol' bruise on your face before you start ragging on me," replied Frank, equally checking out Joe for the same reason. He fished in his pocket with his good arm bringing out a tissue to stem the bleeding from his lip, ripping off a piece and handing it to Joe who gingerly applied it to his cheek.

Satisfied they had both gotten away with minor cuts and bruises they turned their attentions to the would be victim who was now standing, albeit with the help of Alan, her tears drying as she shakily gave her statement. Stopping a moment as she noticed the brothers walking towards her, she heaved a shaky breath before fixing them with a smile.

"Thank you, really, I don't know what I would have done..."

The Hardys nodded once in unison, Frank bending to pick up some of the spilled contents of her purse before handing them to her. He caught Joe's eye as he did so and saw the same understanding reflected back at him. The woman was easily in her forties. And her hair almost jet black. The likelihood of her almost being the third victim of Bayport's serial killer looked entirely slim. Most serial killers had a type that they almost religiously stuck to and rarely deviated from. Which meant the bozos in the back of the police car were just your common garden variety scumbags.

Giving their statements to the police, they were interrupted by the arrival of more flashing lights in the form of an ambulance. After checking out and cleaning Frank's lip and with the addition of a butterfly bandage to Joe's cheek, the Hardys were deemed fit and finally headed for their cars and their homes. But not before more thanks from the shaken woman they had left firmly in the care of the medics.

Thus Joe had finally opened his door to be greeted by a wild eyed Vanessa who barreled into him, squeezing his waist tightly before stepping back to berate him for all the worry he had caused her.

Joe smiled at the memory of Van flipping from indignation to concern as she had taken stock of her boyfriend's injuries and realised there was a good reason for him being so late..although Joe had sheepishly apologised for not at least letting her know he was ok as he genuinely hadn't noticed it was almost eleven o clock in the evening by the time he'd finally gotten home.

"Oh Van," he said to himself. Slowly raising his arms into the air for a stretch he winced at the dull aches and pains littering his body. Heaving himself out of bed, he limped over to their bathroom to take stock of his face. Groaning when he saw that Frank had predicted right and that a sizeable bruise covered the right side of his face around the bandaged cut, he poked at it gently, hissing as a sharp pain shot across his cheek.

"I'll live," he thought to himself as he turned on the tap in preparation of brushing his teeth. Thinking again of Vanessa's adorable concern, he paused mid brush staring at himself in the mirror in almost comical shock before throwing the tooth brush down and pelting it out the bathroom, aches and pains momentarily forgotten.

Dialing the number he knew by heart, his chest thudded loudly as he waited for Vanessa to pick up the phone.

"Joe?" At Vanessa's voice, all the air seemed to leave Joe's body at once as the worry melted away.

"Babe," he whispered in relief.

"Joe..what's wrong?" Vanessa asked in a confused tone.

He couldn't believe it had taken him this long. He berated himself in his mind for not making the connection sooner. A hint of guilt shooting through him as he realised he'd almost focused more attention on Iola's memory than on Vanessa's living, breathing self...almost.

"Van," he began "is there any chance you could go and stay with your mother for a little while?"

Andrea Bender had moved a few towns over when her animation business had taken off and she'd needed bigger premises for the extra staff she'd had to employ.

"Errm..what? Why?" Vanessa asked, confusion still in her voice.

"Remember I told you about the girl, the..one who had been murdered?" As Joe asked, memories of blonde hair and the faces of the two victims flashed through his memory. "Well there was a second murder yesterday."

"Yeah I saw in the paper," Vanessa said quietly. Thinking of the poor girls and their families. "What does that have to do with me going to see mom? You're not being your usual over protective self again are you Hardy? Because you know as well as I do that we discu..."

"No you don't understand," Joe said interrupting her mid flow. "They were..they were both blonde. And pretty. Blonde and pretty and young and..."

Silence on the other end of the phone gave Joe's cheeks a moment to blush red as his mind replayed his words and he realised they made him sound ever so slightly over protective...and a little over cautious. He opened his mouth to explain himself better when Vanessa's voice broke out of the phone again.

"Oh Joe," she sighed. Vanessa understood, even with Joe's babbling she knew what it was he wanted to say. Knew instantly how his newest case would be affecting him without him having to explain in great detail. Knew he wouldn't be able to take the loss of another person who he loved without it breaking him apart irreparably. It was one of the reasons Joe loved her so completely.

"It..would just have to be for a few days," he said around the lump which had grown suddenly in his throat. Swallowing the emotion he continued "I just can't think of you getting hurt Van."

"I understand Joe but..." Vanessa began.

"...Please."

In that one word, Vanessa felt Joe's pain like a shock through her system. Her eyes welled a little at the raw sadness which radiated in his voice.

"Ok Joe, ok," she said "I'm owed a few days at work so it should be fine. I can get out of town for a little while. I'm giving you three days tops though...I can't put up with thinking about you alone and in danger for any longer than that...and you _will_ call me. Every. Single. Day." She added, punctuating her words with pauses.

Relief flooded through Joe at her words. He knew he was being a little hyper careful but he also knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate on catching the killer if she was around, now the thought of Vanessa being in danger was lodged in his mind. No, he needed her as far away as he could get her.

"Thank you," he said simply. They talked for a little while longer before hanging up. Joe threw himself back on the couch, suddenly feeling emotionally drained and more than a little sleepy. He probably would have snoozed a little where he lay but a gurgling noise finally registered in the back of his mind.

"Shoot," he said, jumping up and trotting, albeit a bit more carefully on his injured leg, back to the bathroom where he had left the water running.

* * *

Frank huffed a little from his position on the bed as the phone continued ringing. He'd ignored it once already, but this time round it pealed incessantly. Sticking out his tongue, he carefully ran it over his bottom lip, cringing a little at the sting he felt and the blood he tasted. Finally, sighing again, he rolled over grabbing the offending object.

"What?" he snapped a little more harshly then he meant to.

"Well that's a lovely way to greet your co-super hero," Joe said with mock sadness in his voice.

Frank sighed a little before saying, not a little sarcastically "sorry there sidekick. I was busy being asleep. Remember how we agreed we'd earned a morning off for our heroics. I planned on spending mine being entirely unconscious."

"Sidekick!" Joe spluttered, the indignation in his voice causing a burst of laughter from Frank "when the hell did we decide I was going to be the _sidekick._"

"The youngest always gets to be the sidekick, it's the unwritten rule of comics," Frank chuckled at the self righteous gasp from the other end of the phone. "Now not that I'm incredibly happy to hear from my _baby_ brother on my self instigated morning off but was there anything in particular that you needed?"

Joe grumbled to himself for a moment before asking "I just wanted to know if you'd heard anything from Con?"

The previous days events popped into Franks mind as he unwillingly remembered the death toll hanging over the current case.

"Not yet Joe, I was planning on ringing him as soon as I was up."

"Well..now you're up. So ring me back once you're done." And with that, Joe was gone, probably off on a quest for a late breakfast.

Shaking his head in amused bemusement, Frank consulted his cell phone for Con Riley's number.

"Hey Con," he said when the officer answered "tell me you have some developments."

"As a matter of fact Frank," Con replied, the closest to happy Frank had heard him in days "we do! Remember how you found out that Rachel was on her way home from a support group...well you'll never guess what Nicola was doing on the night of her death."

"No.." Frank said as the realisation of what this implied sunk in "So there is a connection after all!"

"Well, yes and no," Con replied "they were both at support groups. But it wasn't the same one."

"But that still means the killer could be targeting groups in the area right?" Frank said, unable to stop the excitement of a lead flowing through him.

"Looks that way...it's where we're going to be heading next anyways."

"But.." Frank said, a frown on his face as he thought it through "but you can't go sending police into support groups though right? I mean...that will alert the killer that you're onto him."

We'll cross that bridge when we come to it Frank, there's one other thing first," Con said, the excitement returning to his voice. "We picked up a print off of Nicola's locket!"

Frank's mouth dropped a little at this announcement.

"It's been sent to the lab now," Con continued, feeling Frank's enthusiasm almost through the line "rush job, fingers crossed the bastard is in the system."

"Con...wow...what a break!" Frank said, puffing out his cheeks and blowing out the air in a low whistle. "Keep me posted!"

"Will do Frank."

With a click the phone went dead the other end. Listening to the dial tone for a moment, Frank thought about the implications of what that fingerprint could mean before dialing his brother's number.

Without waiting for Joe to speak he said "I think we got him."

* * *

Huzzah for chapter four. I'm a couple of chapters ahead of myself now. I had been writing about one a day because this story entirely happened when one mental image popped into my head as I was at work, and that was a 'scene' from the ending. Just one picture. I had a grasp of little bits of plot but never planned the whole thing before I started writing it blind.

Then I had a productive break time at work on the weekend and managed to cement the whole story in easy to read bullet points, and last night as I sat down to crack on the next two chapters just sort of fell out of my hands. It's taking all my self control to not just post them both tonight!

I won't though, I mean, where's the fun in fics if there's no time between cliffhangers?

Sarah


	5. Chapter 5

The atmosphere was tense at Hardy and Sons. Frank had rearranged his desk about three hundred times and snapped at Joe's continual pacing at least thirty.

The younger Hardy carried on wearing tracks into the carpet, unperturbed by his brother's outbursts. That was Frank's outlet as much as pacing was his and he could respect that.

When the phone rang both brothers leapt at it, Frank beating Joe's outstretched hand by millimetres.

"Hello, Con?" he blurted out, skipping his usual professional introduction.

"Frank," Con said pausing "we got a match."

Frank whooped causing Joe to break out in a grin. He couldn't hear Con's voice, but his brother's war cry was a sure fire indication of success.

"Thompson, Michael Thompson. If he's not our killer then he was at least at the scene," Con said, the grit in his voice belying his textbook 'innocent till proven guilty' statement.

"Do we have an address?" Frank said, hand hovering over his pen.

"I wish it were that simple," Con said sighing. Frank sat back in his seat a little. His enthusiasm dampened.

"Ok, set back...minor set back," he said aloud thoughtfully. "What was he convicted of?" he asked, knowing that the only way you got on the database was either with a prior or by working for the police in some capacity.

"Stalking...but get this, he wasn't sent to jail...he was warned off the target numerous times...and then sectioned under the mental health act when the stalking escalated. Apparently he wound up in the object of his affections bedroom.."

"Sectioned?" Frank breathed. His mind whirring. "Well in that case, we should be able to go to the psychiatric hospital where he was detained...they might be able to point us in the right direction at least. Does it give any details on his condition?"

"Schizophrenia," Con said simply "he was held at...the Morningside Behavioural Health Hospital in...Willowville."

"That's just a few towns over!" Frank exclaimed "Con, me and Joe can head over there today and find out everything we can about him. It will free your guys up to search for him through Bayport."

"I have no problem with that Frank, you guys are practically part of the force as it is. I'll have to clear it with the Chief first...but I can't imagine he would turn down the offer of added man power at the moment. We're going to need all the guys we can to go over Bayport with a fine toothed-comb...Frank, I can't have him strike again.."

"Understood Con," Frank said, radiating sympathy. He knew that the second a murder happened the police were the first to feel the brunt of the public's rage and panic, putting them under a lot of stress to find the killer. Another murder would no doubt result in cementing the words 'serial killer' in people's minds, increasing the stress tenfold and potentially hindering the investigation.

Replacing the handset he filled Joe in on all the info, the younger Hardy's eyes widening at the details of the man's mental health.

"Let's get this show on the road," Frank said. Joe grinned at him. Although he technically knew that they should wait for the Chief's clearance, he was as eager as Frank to get to the hospital and start questioning anyone who would listen. Wild horses...or a disapproving Chief of police, couldn't keep them away.

* * *

Pulling up outside the Morningside Behavioural Health facility just over an hour later, the men took in the sight of the opposing building. It dated back from the Victorian era, and from the looks of it, hadn't changed all that much in appearance..although doubtless it had in technique.

Exiting the vehicle, the Hardys walked up to the front door.

"Hello?" Joe said, pushing in the button "Hardys here, we spoke about a meeting a little while ago?"

"No problem," replied a tinny voice "come right up the first set of stairs into the main reception."

Joe turned to Frank, raising an eyebrow as the door buzzed at them before opening slightly ominously.

Heading up the stairs they were greeted by a greying, stern looking nurse waiting at the reception for them. Hey eyes barely widened as she took in the cuts and bruises on their faces in one swift glance.

"This way please," she said without preamble, turning on her heel and leading them down the corridor.

Joe at least had been expecting a little more crazy, having watched one too many horror movies and with an imagination which tended to hop a little on the vivid side. But as they were led along the clinical hallway, the rooms they passed were quiet and peaceful. The common areas full of patients playing games, reading, watching television or just sitting. Nurses wandered around, occasionally stopping to have quiet words with the residents who almost always returned their answers with a smile.

This brief glimpse of the hospital was cut off as they were lead through a large wooden door into an office like room. The matron motioned to two chairs in front of an imposing desk as she made her way around the back and settled herself.

"Now, I understand you're here to talk about a patient?" she asked, pulling out a file and laying it atop the desk.

"Yes, Michael Thompson," Frank replied, willing himself not to gulp in a cartoon manner. He was finding it all too easy to be intimidated by the building and this little woman.

She nodded, tight lipped. "There's not an awful lot I can say on the matter," she said, slightly looking down her nose at the two men and making them feel like children in front of the head teacher. "Patient confidentiality of course."

The Hardys slowly nodded in unison, Frank catching himself slightly when he saw what they were doing. He refused to behave like kids with their hands in the cookie jar. They were grown men for Pete's sake!

"Ma'am," he started, his mouth dropping a little when she coughed lightly, pointing to the badge saying matron. "Erm right..Matron then," he said, slightly abashed and kicking a sniggering Joe under the table imperceptibly.

"Matron, anything you could tell us about Michael would help with our current investigation."

Again she considered Frank's face for a fraction longer than was comfortable before saying "I can tell you that Michael arrived here in an agitated state. He was in residence for a little over eight months and left of his own accord a much happier individual."

"Erm..right," Frank replied before almost visibly shaking himself "sorry...is that all?"

"Yes," she answered, "I cannot go into any more detail of his condition, nor his treatment without some form of _police_ attainment, or Michael being here in person and giving his express permission.

"I..." began Frank, once again at the brink of being struck dumb when Joe, who had been enjoying the proceedings immensely, finally decided to throw his brother a life line and interrupted.

"Matron, is it Matron or would you prefer Magdalene?" he asked, throwing his trademark grin across the table, his eyes motioning to her name badge before resting on her face.

The woman visibly stiffened but the corner of her mouth turned up...barely. "Matron will do fine thank you."

"Matron then, are you sure you can't give us any more information?"

"I'm terribly sorry young man," she started, and for the first time it appeared that she actually meant it "but I am physically unable to do so."

"Right, well, in that case if we could..." Joe stopped suddenly, his breath catching in his throat. A loud hack erupted from his mouth which swiftly lead to a violent coughing fit.

"Joe!" Frank asked stunned. Joe doubled over suddenly...and out of view of the Matron, tapped Frank's leg a few times.

Frank getting the message looked up at the tiny, yet imposing, woman. "Could we get some water...my brother is terribly allergic to certain...disinfectants and it appears that the one you use must be er...one of them!"

"Goodness!" she said raising to her feet suddenly, "does he need a doctor?"

"No, no," Frank said, interrupted by a particularly vocal cough from Joe who was still bent double "he has medication with him at all times. Water would be fine thank you."

Nodding slightly she ran from the room, the door closing loudly behind her.

Frank smacked his brother on the back of the head as his coughs turned to laughter from under the table where he apparently couldn't straighten back up, so funny did he find his own performance.

"Ow Frank!" he said between laughs as his brother leapt to his feet, bringing out his cell phone "come on, don't even pretend that that wasn't some Errol Flynn level acting right there. I'm a genius."

"Well genius, get to the door and listen out for Matron coming back," Frank said, opening the file on her desk quickly and snapping photos using his phone.

"Why, did she scare you big brother?" Joe said, wiping tears from his eyes.

Frank muttered something unintelligible at his brother as he began snapping photo after photo, pausing a little when he got to a section of images in the file.

"Frank!" Joe said, his ear to the door, "I think she's coming back!"

Running to his seat, he was joined a few seconds later by Frank who hastily threw his cell in his pocket and resumed rubbing Joe's back as the door flew open. The Matron reappeared looking markedly flustered and handed a small glass of water to Joe who had apparently calmed himself to small coughs from the earlier episode of hacking.

Bringing out a packet of Tic Tacs from his pocket, he concealed the box from the woman, popping the lid and throwing a couple into his mouth and chasing them down with a swig from the glass. Barely keeping it together, he barked out a thanks between 'coughs'.

"Thank you ever so much Matron," Frank said, standing and 'helping' Joe to his feet. "You've been so helpful but I really think I should get him into the fresh air." With that, he practically fled from the room with Joe clinging to his arm, only just managing to keep up.

Matron flushed and fell back into her seat, puffing out her cheeks. It was a shame the young man had had to leave so soon she thought to herself, before catching eye of the blush colouring her cheeks in the glass of her desk clock and sitting up sharply. She composed her face back into its stern mask and walked from the room, barking out to one of the passing nurses about a stray strand of hair which had fallen from her cap.

* * *

Frank and Joe crowded round their father's desk, once again using it as a table for their notes. They had taken the images from Frank's phone and printed them out, enlarging any which contained text.

Joe whistled lowly as his eyes raked the pictures that frank had taken from the images section of the file. They finally had a face to put to a name...along with some snaps of Michael's room while he had stayed in the hospital.

Scrawled across the walls, apparently in a lipstick stolen from one of the nurses, was one word. Over and over in varying sizes.

"Who the hell is Stan?" Joe asked puzzled.

"It says...heeeree," Frank started, finding the document he wanted, "that when he arrived at the hospital after being ordered there by the courts, he was delusional and screaming the name Stan over and over. Said this 'Stan' made him do it. 'Made me follow the angel'."

Pausing for Joe to read the rest of the information, he focused on the pictures of the innocent looking man, one taken on his arrival and one on the day of his release. Gone was the wild eyed, drooling and filthy man and in his place, a calm looking individual. Cleanly groomed and ready for the world.

Joe whistled again "so Stan was a voice in his head?" he asked.

"Looks that way," Frank said, refocusing his attention on the text. "Apparently he had conversations with him constantly until one day they stopped...causing an 'episodic mental breakdown'...had to be heavily sedated...they started him on anti-psychotic medicine from then."

"Looks like he took to it well judging from his reports," Joe said nodding towards another sheet. "Patient seems happier, patient is calm, quiet, fastidious...patient has not mentioned Stan in over a week, a month yadda yadda...so it worked?"

"Hm," Frank agreed, quietly in thought. "He was 'Stan free' for three months before they decided that he was ok to be discharged."

Looking at his discharge papers, clearly marked under the requirements section were the words 'to be released pending further meetings with councillors and support officers.'

"So they released him back into the world as long as he met with a 'support officer' once a week," Joe stated, both brothers quickly making the mental leap between support officers and support groups. "Looks like this is our guy."

"Certainly seems that way," Frank said, pulling one final sheet towards them "looks like he skipped out on the last few meetings though," he added, pointing to the document.

"And he stopped collecting his medication from them..." Joe stated.

The brothers pulled back simultaneously, standing up fully each lost in thought for a moment.

"So he leaves the hospital and what...goes to the support groups..and for some reason finds he can't cope?" Joe asked.

"Stops taking his meds, maybe has an episode..who knows, maybe he's hallucinating again." Frank added.

"Stan?" Joe asked.

"Stan." Frank stated.

* * *

"STAN!" Michael screamed to the vast emptiness as he was torn from sleep by a nightmare. A nightmare which assaulted him every time his eyes closed. His angel. Walking towards him. Smiling her glorious smile. And he felt his own face return the expression. Her grin widened. Still beaming even as the fists began raining down upon her shoulders. The blows hitting her face. Bruising her. Cutting her. All the while she smiled. Hands. Fists. His fists.

"No," Michael whimpered, drawing up his knees and resting his forehead on them. Hands over his eyes as he wept.

_Why do you cry Michael_

He didn't even bother to fight the voice this time. He needed it. He wanted it. It was the only thing in the world. The only comfort in his life. The voice wrapped around him like a warm blanket on a freezing night.

"I dreamt of the angel again," he replied simply. He had told the voice about the dream before. Every detail. The voice knew everything about him. The voice knew him. _Was_ him.

_Shhh Michael. I know how to make it all better again_

At this, Michael looked up from his hands. The tears running freely down his face. Cutting pathways through the grime.

"How?" A whisper so low he barely heard it himself.

_The last angel Michael. One more for the collection. One they won't ever find Michael. Ever take away from us_

The final images of the dream left his mind. Blowing away like tendrils of smoke in the wind as he thought of her. An angel he could keep forever. One they would never take from him. One they _could_ never take from him.

He nodded as he smiled. His mouth slowly turning upwards.

"The last angel."

* * *

Having gathered up the printouts from Frank's phone, the Hardys had made their way to the Bayport police department to meet with Con and form a plan of attack.

"You do know we won't be able to enter these into evidence considering they were obtained in a..less than..legal manner," Con said, looking up from the pages to the faces of the young men before him. They had the good grace to look a little sheepish as the words washed over them.

"We know," Frank said "but if this bending of the rules helps to save one more life then it's worth it."

Con looked back to the papers, thoughts crossing his face as he slowly nodded.

"So now what?" Joe asked quickly with a frown. His fuse had shortened a little more after having to wave Vanessa off that very afternoon. His emotions ripped between keeping her close to him so he could protect her and sending her to where he knew she would be safer.

"Well, I've had officers tracking down a list of all the support groups within a two mile radius of where each of the two...victims...were found, " Con replied. "We figure since Michael doesn't have any form of driving license he must be travelling on foot. There is a definite over lap within this distance between Rachel's location and Nicola's so it's probably fair to say that the area encompassing where both girl's support groups are located can be considered his haunting grounds."

All three of the men knew that there was a fair chance that Michael could have visited numerous support groups in the Bayport area on his own quest for help. The Councillor he had been appointed upon departing the psychiatric hospital saying as much when she had been contacted earlier in the day by an officer at Con's request. The only information she could on good conscience release, due to the same patient confidentiality binds the boys had come across earlier, being that it took Michael time for him to find people he could trust before he would open up. This trait meaning he had visited several groups before finding one where he felt comfortable enough to receive help.

Frustratingly, however, she could not even point them in the direction of his chosen group as they were, dictated by their delicate nature, completely anonymous. To this end, it meant they also did not keep records of attendees who didn't even have to give their names if they didn't want to.

"So," Con said after filling in the Hardys with the details of the phone call to the Councillor "we're going to have to stake out every group in the aforementioned radius and _hope_ Michael is casually hanging around outside with a sign saying 'hi I'm a murderer and I plan on coming quietly."

The sting in his voice belied any humour, and the Hardys could do little more than smile wanly at his words.

"Why.." Joe started, pausing as he grasped at the plan forming on the edges of his mind "why don't we stake out..from _inside_ the groups?"

Con regarded the younger Hardy for a moment, his head cocked as he worked through this surprising statement. "As in...join the groups?"

"Yeah," Joe said, thoughts firing rapidly. "Send a man in every group you have in the area...morning and evening sessions. I know the last two murders happened at night but we can't be over cautious. They can scope out the members and make a note of any likely victims."

"Any young and blonde females..." Frank said, his voice trailing off as his mind caught up and seemed to meld with Joe's as they thought through the plan. "How many groups are there?"

"Surprisingly quite a few," Con said, frowning a little "apparently this part of town is some sort of hotspot for those with any sort of physical or mental ailments. There were seven at last count. One we can discredit as it deals solely in physical conditions, so it's unlikely Michael ever darkened their doorway."

"So...you need us then," Joe said with a grin.

"What..." Con asked frowning.

"There's no way you can stump up enough officers to cover six groups with multiple sessions, as well as support adequate backup." Joe replied, his smile getting a little wider as he saw Con's expression go from confused, to slightly angry before settling into grim unamusement as he apparently did a quick number check of officers and conceded Joe's point.

"We volunteer," Frank said seriously.

Con gaped a little for a moment. Looking from one face to the other before his expression settling somewhere between annoyed and amused "I wouldn't be able to stop you two getting involved anyway would I?" he asked, half seriously.

"Hey, at least nowadays it's our actual job," Joe asked, throwing out an easy grin.

"Ok..." Con sighed "ok, well the next meet and greet with the guys is tomorrow morning, bright and early boys. We can hammer out the details then."

Handing over the papers back to Frank, he shook his head in mock despair as Joe shot him a wink and a toothy smile as the Hardys turned and left the room, thoughts buzzing as they all felt one step closer to their target.

* * *

Now firstly, I'm assuming that America..and other countries have Tic Tacs..I'm sure someone will point it out to me if they haven't. Basically they're just small packets of mint drop sweets.

Secondly, I felt like I spent too many words hashing out how the Hardys manage and managed to work alongside the police. The stuff they're doing you'd just take for granted without consequence when you're younger...but older audiences have a lot of 'why and how' questions. So apologies if it all got a little wordy and over complicated.

The action stuff starts soon I think. I'm off to get a head start writing it.

Comments and critiques welcomed as always!

Sarah


	6. Chapter 6

When Con said bright and early...he wasn't kidding around. Frank, who's caffeine taste usually bordered on the weaker side when compared to Joe at least, had been slightly intimidated by the cup of black police issue java placed in front of him on arrival. Joe had hardly waited for his to cool before throwing it down his throat as he peered around blearily through half closed eyes.

Looking about the room at the less than awake faces of the officers, Frank understood the need for coffee so dark you could almost chew it, and sipped at the tar like liquid attempting to hide his grimaces.

The general air of fatigue was interrupted when Con burst through the doors to the room, more than one of the people present jumping a little at his entrance.

"Morning," he barked. Signs of the current case were easily read on the face of the officer. The age lines which were ever present seeming deeper, and the addition of eye bags which looked darker than they had when the Hardys had spoken to him only a day previous. He had clearly been up most of the night with the Chief planning and going over all of the details of the day's operation.

"It's obvious why we're all here today," he began, walking to the erected white board at the front of the room and pulling out a pen "we're going to catch us a murderer."

At just these words it seemed that even the most exhausted officers were filled with a rejuvenated vigour. Eyes opened fully for the first time that morning and several of the men and women sat up a little straighter. There was not a person there who didn't feel, however irrationally, at least partially to blame for the death of the second victim, and it seemed that each and every one of them was raring to go now that they had a name for the possible murderer and a fixed objective in front of them.

"This is how it's going to work," Con said, drawing a rough grid on the board in front of them and writing words in the headings. "We're going to need eyes in every one of the six identified support groups for every session that they hold throughout the day. This means we're going to break into three factions. Each faction will consist of officers on the ground and a back up squad on standby. The objective is to identify possible targets determined by the previous victims similarities."

Con went on to explain the intricacies of each of the support group's specialities and assigned each of the officers and the Hardys a position, slot and time of the sessions they would be in or covering.

"Now the Chief has contacted each of the Councillors who head these groups and explained the situation to them. They weren't entirely happy about the plan as it undermines the trust they are trying to build with the actual clients of the groups," at this Con paused slightly with a sigh "but once we got through to them that this could potentially prevent another senseless loss of life they agreed. Naturally the Councillors who knew Rachel and Nicola were first in line to help out however they could."

To this end, Con explained that each of the ground teams were to enter the sessions undercover. Their guise simply to be potential new members to the groups. Therefore, their observance and lack of inclusion could be explained away simply, as new members were not required to participate until they were comfortable with the environment they had chosen.

The next hour was spent going over all details and eventualities with Con disclosing how and when each ground team member could communicate to the back up crew who would be on standby.

"Now you all know your roles for the coming days," Con stated, his eyes slowly panning the faces in front of him "there were only a few days between the deaths of the first two women suggesting that the murderer is in an accelerated state." His eyes narrowed a moment before he continued "this could mean he strikes tonight, tomorrow, maybe the day after but if previous case evidence is to be believed, it will be sooner rather than later...and he will be in a dangerous mental state, schizophrenia or no schizophrenia. So I want you to take every precaution necessary."

On this final foreboding note, Con wrapped proceedings calling out for the first team of officers to get ready to hit the field and pointing out that those on the later shifts should take this time to rest as well as they could. Exhaustion could easily lead to oversights.

Being apart of the evening squad, the Hardys nodded at Con as they left. Joe planning on getting home and passing out for a few hours after a phone call update with Vanessa. His sleep had been less restful than usual in her absence, not that he would ever admit that to Frank for fear of endless amounts of mocking from his older brother.

Frank aimed to spend the day as relaxed as possible to keep his mind zen for the coming evening. He knew going over the information again and again would only result in him being agitated and likely to make mistakes come his shift. First, however, he planned to swing by the office and email a copy of their report and findings on the case so far to Fenton as was the common practice when the older detective was away.

* * *

Later, Joe stood at the mirror in the bedroom of his and Vanessa's humble apartment. Pulling at the tie he was wearing, he studied his reflection for a moment before letting out a growl and ripping it off in frustration. Sitting on the edge of the bed he threw himself backwards with a grunt, arms spread wide as he closed his eyes and huffed out a sigh.

Eyes still closed he rolled over, grabbing wildly for the phone he had on his bedside table and dialled Frank's number.

"Hello?" Frank's distracted voice came through the receiver.

"What the hell do you wear to a support group?" Joe blurted out, his eye brows knitted together in a petulant expression which only deepened when the sound of Frank's laughter was his reply.

"Joe you wear whatever the hell you would normally. These aren't formal meetings you know," Frank said, mirth still evident in his tone.

Joe grumbled a garbled reply which set Frank off on another wave of amusement.

"You're wearing the Argyle aren't you? Oh please tell me you're wearing the Argyle?" he said referring to the powder blue, patterned sweater Vanessa had bought and forced Joe to wear when he had tagged along to her families semi-annual gathering. No matter how hard he had protested, she had thought he looked 'absolutely adorable!' in the knitted monstrosity, and Frank had found the subsequent photos, with a scowling Joe in the background, simply hilarious.

"..No," Joe said sullenly, tugging a little self consciously at the offending sweater's collar and resisting the urge to check his room for observational devices.

Frank guffawed again, easily catching the lie in his brother's voice.

"Ohh hush up," Joe said, hearing Frank's chuckle even as he hung up the phone.

The only experiences he had ever had with any sort of Psychiatric Councillors had been the times he had been to some therapy sessions not long after Iola had been killed. He had gone at the co-conspiratorial urgings of his mother and Vanessa, both of whom had not been entirely convinced by the mask he had worn for the months after she had been murdered. The Joe Vanessa had first encountered had been broken. But glimpses of his former go-lucky self shone through on occasion and had her determined to pull him back together as much as she could. She would never know it, but just being there for him had been the first and most important brick on the road to his recovery.

They had bundled him off to see a wonderfully understanding Doctor who had, despite Joe's misgivings, actually made him feel a lot better. It had only ever been a few sporadic meetings as Joe's very nature meant he was better equipped at handling tragedy. But each time he had gone to a session, his mother had left his best trousers and shirt freshly pressed on his bed next to a note which said simply 'I'm proud of you'.

Joe's frown deepened a little at the memory before his mouth broke into an easy grin. He could see the ridiculousness of the situation and, standing up and catching his reflection in the mirror, how comical he looked. Letting out a snort of derision mixed with amusement he tore the sweater over his head, tossing it to a corner before reaching into his closet for his regulation t-shirt and jeans. He picked out his waterproof jacket for good measure as he peered out the window into the winter night and saw that buckets of freezing rain had began to pour.

"Show time."

* * *

Frank fiddled with his watch nervously as he stood in the downpour at the doors of the darkened school hall which was to be his undercover assignment for the evening. Mentally he went quickly over the instructions Con had given the ground team before they departed into the night. He patted the pockets of his rain coat whose very bulk helped to easily conceal the walkie-talkie they had all been issued with. Feeling his cell phone in his jeans pocket, he inwardly shook himself as he entered the hall through the squeaking door.

A couple of the over head lights in the building had been turned off giving, what Frank supposed, was a more calming ambience to the room. As he walked towards the end of the room where a ring of chairs had been set up, several faces peered back at him. Some with sympathetic smiles as they noticed that he was a newcomer. Nodding back to them he picked a seat at random, masking his expression as his gaze locked eyes with the support Councillor who's lips fractionally tightened as she realised who he was. To her credit, however, she managed to reign in her disapproval before it became obvious, instead sending a warm smile in his direction and quietly saying "welcome."

Smiling back at her, Frank shrugged out of his raincoat as naturally as possible whilst attempting to not hit the concealed walkie in the pocket off the chair legs as he hung it, dripping, over the back of his seat. Taking a quick look around the room he saw about twelve people, not including himself, who widely ranged in age, colour and sex. His body stiffened imperceptibly as his eyes fell upon the face of a young, blonde girl whose entire body language screamed of not wanting to be there, her head bowed as she fastidiously focused on the ground.

As a couple more people trickled into the meeting, the Councillor checked her watch before looking up to address the group, "welcome back everyone, and for our newcomers," her eyes rested on Frank slightly and her grin for a moment seemed forced "hello. We hope that we can work on any of your problems together."

Frank smiled back at the faces which turned to him, some with glances of support and some with barely veiled suspicion. He lowered his gaze slightly in a successful attempt to deflect attention and settled in his chair for what looked sure to be a long and drawn out evening. He disguised a smile behind his hand as he thought of Joe, arriving thirty minutes earlier at his own assigned support group several blocks over, who was not known for his patience. Doubtless his attention would be wavering at this very moment.

* * *

Joe had to physically suppress a groan as he sat feigning interest as one man spoke, at length, about how his stutter was ruining his daily existence. The younger Hardy was notorious for his good nature and had an easy ear when it was needed by friends and family. But despite feeling a justified anger for the people in the room who were persecuted for their physical and psychological differences, he was not the sort of person who benefited from drawn out conversation of any nature. A trait which had resulted in countless accidental naps in darkened lectures during his college years.

Surreptitiously checking his watch he noted, with another almost-groan, that they had been in session for over an hour and were _only_ about a third of the way through the group. Out of the assembled people before him there were two stand outs who matched the victim profile, who he had clocked minutes after entering the building and taking a place. It was a mark of how much he keenly felt Vanessa's absence that he didn't feel like checking out either of the two women despite one being especially attractive.

The drill after identifying any targets was to shadow the women as they left the buildings, calling in to the standby teams who would respond to the summons and join in the tailing in vehicles in the hopes that Michael wouldn't be far behind. Joe having more than one target to deal with would get priority, and he casually brushed his hand against the walkie-talkie bulge in his coat pocket reassuring himself for the hundredth time that it was still there.

Feeling his eyes glaze over slightly he mentally shook himself, his mind berating him in a scarily good impersonation of Frank. It became slightly easier to focus as a surprisingly tall woman, with thankfully a less monotonous tone, took centre stage.

She began telling the group of her constant battle with night terrors. This, Joe had to admit to himself, was a very eclectic group when it came to their problems. Describing the way she would go to sleep before waking every evening after the same dream, she told of nightmares of being burnt alive. As a child, she had lost her entire family in a house fire, being almost the soul survivor apart from her grandma who died not long after of a seemingly broken heart.

Her voice caught in her throat as tears welled up in her eyes. She described watching as the very flesh of her hands melting away before her. The screams of her family re-etching themselves into her memory night after night. As she spoke her eyes dulled, so vivid were these images that they transported her even as she spoke of them.

Joe didn't notice his palms becoming clammy. Nor the catch in his throat as his breaths came faster and shallower. His heart began beating so hard he was sure someone would hear it. Her words had struck a cord in his chest as he remembered the vivid nightmares he himself had lived through. The car exploding in a ball of fire on nights where he was lucky. Watching his own skin burn if he was luckier. But the nights when he was unlucky, when he was left screaming until his throat bled as Iola stood before him... Weeping. The fire eating every part of her except for her eyes. Eyes which burnt Joe's soul with the same flames that burnt her skin...

"Tori," the Councillor said loudly, causing Joe to jump out of his trance. The barest hint of tears stinging his eyes. "Tori, why don't you have a little break sweetie, go and get some air. Anthony?" he said to the young man next to her. Who getting the hint, stood, putting his arms about her shoulders and guided her outside for a break.

The Councillor normally didn't interrupt unless he had good reason to, and whilst Tori had clearly gained something from letting them in on her night terrors, she had crossed over the line of helpfulness into pure panic. He had also, noticing from the corner of his eye, seen the effect it was having on the undercover detective in the group. Something which he had noted with surprise as he had been told that the agents involved in the subterfuge wouldn't be joining in on their group therapy session. But, he reminded himself, they were people too. And everyone had problems they may need help with.

"Joseph?..." he began, noting the way the young man gave a little start "do you want to share anything?"

He almost heard the mask snapping back over Joe's face as the Hardy seemed to come back into the room and got a hold of himself.

"Er..no thanks. I think I'll just listen if that's ok."

The Councillor nodded once, slowly, before skipping over him to the next person in the group.

"Get a hold of yourself Hardy," Joe thought to himself as a thin veil of embarrassment settled over him. He was here on a mission for God's sake. Not to lay out his feelings to a bunch of strangers.

As his heart returned to it's normal number of beats, he allowed himself a moment to think on his reaction, and he was happy when he realised that he was fine. This was a one off. The vivid descriptions of the woman's nightmares had only brought up old history which had caught him off guard. His own nightmares had stopped with the arrival of Vanessa who had helped heal him more completely than he ever could have imagined. Helped him realise that Iola wouldn't have blamed him for what happened to her. He loved Vanessa more entirely than he had ever loved anyone before.

Smiling slightly he settled back in his seat, ready to continue his duties for the evening. Safe in the knowledge that everything was fine.

* * *

Frank's group was finally winding to a close. Even Frank's level of concentration had been tested with the amount of ground they had covered. His nerves slightly frayed at the edges as he thought and re-thought about the steps he would take when leaving the hall.

He knew he would have no problem tailing his target, he and Joe had had years of practice when they were younger at this kind of thing after all. It was contacting the back up and waiting on their commands which was the main mantra occupying his mind.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath as the group stood and started putting on their coats to venture into the outside rain, he put his hand in his pocket securely around the walkie-talkie.

He smiled and said goodbye to the members who spoke to him as he was leaving, one eye on the girl who he would be shadowing the moment she left.

As she made her move out the door, he waited a few moments to let her get a good head start before he too exited the hall. Waving a hand in a final goodbye.

The rain was absolutely hammering down upon them. Freezing rain due to the seasonable chill in the air. Pulling his hood over his head he let out a shuddering breath due to the cold before turning and walking at a reasonable pace to keep up with his quarry. One good thing which came from the rain was the fact that she had also pulled her hood up and around her face. A move which would greatly reduce her peripheral vision and make tailing her that much more simple for Frank.

The thought had barely finished leaving his mind when Frank noticed something from the corner of his eye which made him tremble slightly in a reaction which had nothing to do with the temperature. Someone else, it seemed, was also taking advantage of the woman's apparent lack of awareness.

A shambling figure, darting in and out of shadows on the opposite side of the street. A figure who looked even more ominous from behind the sheets of rain. Heart thumping, Frank's hand involuntarily let go of the walkie-talkie as all thoughts of Con, backup and police flew out of his mind and he took off in the same direction as the oblivious woman and the shuffling figure dogging her steps.

* * *

Lordy, my British spell checker is absolutely going ten rounds with the American one on here. I don't think they're going to be friends. So much so that I kept googling words I'd used to make sure that I haven't literally been spelling them wrong all my life...

Anywho, this chapter went off it a slightly different direction than I thought it would. It ended in a different place too but some parts of it were writing themselves. That stuff with Joe I didn't even think of until I was trucking along and Tori happened..

I know Joe is a tad on the emotional side in this fic. But I reckon he's allowed a few angsty moments with a case which is hitting close to home. I won't ever have him a gibbering wreck on the floor though. Rest assured.

I won't be able to update for a few days as I'm off to hospital for a cheeky operation tomorrow (totally not bricking it right now...) and I don't know if I'm going to be cleared to come home or not. All indications are pointing towards a sort of five day respite type deal though so fingers crossed I don't feel too crap and can crack on with the fic. It's getting to the bits I'm eager to write! Typical.

Thanks for all those who have stuck with the story so far, and cookies for those who have taken the time to review. All comments and critiques are welcome!

Sarah


	7. Chapter 7

Joe left his group, eyeing up his targets as they of course darted off in different directions, running slightly because of the rain. Whipping out his walkie-talkie he radioed in to Con who was sitting in the back of the support teams van.

"Con, Joe here," he said releasing the button and waiting for the reply.

"Con here, what have you got for us?" Came Con's slightly crackly response.

"I have two possible targets, one heading down West Field the other going down Baker street. I'm heading for Baker," Joe said, turning on the spot and hoping in his heart that he wasn't making a mistake.

He didn't need long to find out however as, following the girl round the corner, he caught only a glimpse of her as she leapt out of the rain and into her parked car before gunning the engine.

Swearing, Joe span and jogged in the opposite direction towards his other target pressing the button on his radio as he ran.

"Scratch that Con, I have changed targets. Baker is on her way home in a vehicle. I repeat, I have West Field covered."

"Ok Joe, we're heading to Park Lane currently," came Con's reply "Simmons has a possible. Watch yourself and we'll get to you when we can."

"Gotcha," Joe said, turning off the device and dropping it in his pocket.

Having to trot a little to keep up with the woman's quick step as she hurried in the freezing rain, Joe cursed whoever had decided to make a rain coat which didn't include a hood. The water now running freely down his neck and making its way into his clothing underneath. Shivering slightly he kept his eyes focused on the target ahead.

About ten minutes later he found himself letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he saw the woman making her way into what was obviously her home. Tension easing from his shoulders as he realised he was done for the night Joe once again clicked on his walkie-talkie.

"Con?" he said into the device.

"Go...Jo...we'r..on...trail." Con's voice was broken and more than a little hard to make out as Joe held the walkie near his ear in an attempt to hear the officer better.

"Repeat Con? You're breaking up buddy."

"Let us...position...we're...trail."

Joe had an idea that they were trying to let him know they were currently tailing another target elsewhere. Pressing the button once again, he shouted slowly and clearly "I READ YOU CON. I AM CLEAR MY END. REPEAT, CLEAR!"

The response he got was a garble of static. Pocketing the walkie-talkie, he brought out his cell phone with the intention to ring his brother and see where he had ended up. He noticed in surprise that he had already a text from Frank. Three words,

"Talbot Warehouses. SOS."

Heart beating a little faster Joe turned quickly, his head whipping back and forth in an attempt to get his bearings before he took off in a dead sprint, mind set on one thing only. Helping his brother.

* * *

Grunting slightly in the rain, Michael paused. Watching his new angel. The way her hips swayed as she ran slightly in the downpour. He licked his lips as water ran down his face. The closest he had come to a shower in a long time.

Luckily for him she happened to live in vaguely the same direction as the abandoned warehouse he had made his home. Almost. He had never thought of taking the angels back to his home before. In all honesty he hadn't thought of it this time either. It had been Stan's idea.

Stan. There would be no use bothering to try to speak to him tonight. Not for the moment. Stan was never around when Michael was on the trail of his angels. Left him in peace to concentrate. But he always interrupted at the end. The thought half annoyed, half pleased Michael. He wanted to be alone with his angels. But Stan was the only one who ever spoke to him like he was a person. Like he was worth something. Stan was his only friend.

Focusing back on the woman, Michael mumbled darkly as he saw her turning down the wrong street. Away from his home. He would have to take her. Take her soon. Take her now.

* * *

Frank's heart was in his mouth as he followed the pair of figures ahead of him, the girl still entirely clueless to her impromptu entourage as she hurried to get out of the rain. As much as he wanted to radio the Chief and the supporting officers, his proximity to the skittering man was too close to allow him to chance it. They were all moving too fast to grant him a moment to drop back and attempt contact either. He knew that if he paused even for a second the darkness and rain limiting his view could result in him losing them both entirely.

Luckily for him, he had his cell phone. He would send a message out to Joe when he had both a chance and a fixed destination in place where he could send the cavalry. For now, he concentrated on catching glimpses of his quarry. No mean feat as the man ahead of him was quick as a fox, dashing in an out of any shadowed areas and always keeping an eye on the woman ahead. His movements were twitchy and his steps faltering. But the elder Hardy could read a sense of dangerous grace and coiled tension beneath the gestures. Frank tried to make the connection between the darting figure and the photograph of Michael Thompson currently filed away in the cupboard of Hardy and Sons.

Occasional forays into the light of street lamps showed a smallish man who appeared to be very thin. Frank couldn't make out any of his clothing as he was attempting to keep a good distance away for fear of being spotted. But whatever he was wearing all appeared to be dark in colour. By design or because of dirt he couldn't say. Long hair was the only other thing that Frank could make out in the darkness. For all intents and purposes, it seemed they had been right. Their killer was Michael.

One thing he did know for sure however was that Michael, if it indeed was him, was not to be underestimated. He had managed to subdue two healthy women with just his bare hands. Furthermore, their actual deaths had been the product of bullets. Michael was as armed as he was dangerous. Frank, again, cursed his inability to summon backup.

Looking around for anything which might give him a better idea of his position, he noticed an old boarded up bar on the corner of the street. Hank's. It had once been a thriving establishment as it was situated a few blocks over from what had been an equally prosperous industrial estate. Frank suddenly knew where they were and where they were likely headed. The owners of said prosperous industrial estate had invested their money into the wrong stock on the market and had gone under taking the business, and Hank's patronage, with them. Now all that was left were the ghost shells of abandoned warehouses.

Frank looked up suddenly. He had paused a second whilst trying to find out his current position, a second too long as he realised he could no longer see his targets ahead of him. Cursing quietly in the darkness the detective ran silently forward, his eyes raking the gloom as he searched for any sign of movement.

His heart leapt into his throat as a short, sharp shriek pierced the night away to his left. Momentarily dazed he dashed in the direction of the noise, whipping out his cell to alert Joe as his suspicions of their destination appeared to be confirmed.

"Warehouses," he thought to himself as he sprinted "why does it always have to be warehouses."

* * *

Joe panted as he ran. He had always been the sprinter of the family whilst Frank was good for cross country. Baring his teeth a little, his determination was buoyed by the sense of urgency his brother's text had given him. No matter how far the distance, Joe Hardy would never give in to defeat if Frank's life was on the line. Tension radiated through his shoulders as he neared his destination.

He whipped out the walkie-talkie and once again tried to contact Con and the team. Whether it was the distance or the rain screwing up the signal he couldn't tell, but all he got was static. Resisting the urge to throw the device into the nearest wall as a surge of anger ran through him, he instead roughly pocketed the radio, balling his fists as he pumped another burst of speed into his steps. A feeling of dread washed over him as his gut told him that he was running out of time.

* * *

Poking his head through a doorway of the smaller of the two warehouses, Franks gasping came quickly but silently as he tried to regain his breath as quietly as possible. The air of surprise could be crucial in a situation where he might have to apprehend Michael. He had already decided he would only engage his target if he absolutely had to. Age had brought with it the knowledge that taking on a suspect without knowing where your backup was was entirely irresponsible. Instead, he would find where Michael had taken the young woman and observe from a distance until Joe, and hopefully the cavalry, arrived on the scene.

Creeping forwards, Frank found himself in the middle of a vast space filled with the broken forms of once impressive machinery. Rain fell in through holes in the ceiling and plinked off the metal appliances and walkways in a pattering staccato. Frank's soft footfalls and the water which dripped freely from his drenched clothing was muffled by the musical, and in any other circumstances calming, sounds. The moonlight streaming through the broken glass windows reflected off the rain soaked surfaces adding an ethereal quality to the room. Straining his ears, the detective heard the muffled noise of what sounded like laughter coming from one of the deserted office spaces across the building. Picking his steps carefully, he built up speed as he aimed his intentions towards the sounds.

The shouts of glee became clearer as he got closer to the doorway leading into the room where Michael had obviously taken his prize. Frank fervently hoped that, though he had deviated from his previous MO by bringing his victim to his 'home', he would otherwise stick to his own patterns and had yet to actually kill the girl. Ducking below a window which opened into the next room, his heart chilled as he finally focused on the words Michael was interspersing between giggles of macabre delight.

"We did it Stan! Did it! An angel here! Where they can never take her from us. They can never find her here Stan. We did it!"

Frank peered over the lip of the window from where he crouched. He saw Michael dancing around the prone body of the woman below him and noted in relief that whilst unconscious, she was still breathing. Taking stock of the room Frank eyed the stack of filthy rags and cushions clearly stolen from trash cans the town over and fashioned into a nest, and the litter of wrappers which surrounded it. He was irrationally reminded of Joe's desk for a moment and almost had to muffle a bark of laughter. The man had clearly occupied this room for a while if the amount of rubbish was anything to go by.

Michael clutched something to his breast as he leapt one last time before scuttling forwards to the female lying before him. Frank's skin crawled as he saw him running his filthy fingers through her hair, all the while muttering to himself and grunting in glee. Suddenly, his movements stiffened and after a pregnant pause, he screamed the word "NOO!" startling the young detective out of his disgusted trance. Michael whipped round with a look of deranged rage in his eyes as he caught sight of Frank peering through the glass. Ripping his fingers from the woman's hair he launched himself, bellowing, at the stunned and dismayed Hardy.

* * *

Michael was filled with more happiness than he ever could have thought imaginable as he crouched over his angel and muttered declarations of love to her prone body. His fingers stroked her downy, hair as he murmured in an almost trance like state.

He was torn from the moment when the voice he did not want to hear right then spoke two words which shattered her spell in an instant and had him screaming in rage.

_They're here _

Whipping around, the only thing he could see through his curtain of hate were the pinpoints of light reflecting from the eyes of the person hiding below the window. Screaming murder, he launched himself forward to the man who was here to take his angel away.

* * *

Frank could not stop the shocked gasp which tore from his throat as Michael came towards him. Gone were all traces of the person Frank had seen in the photo before his release. There was no reasoning with the madness which he saw in the eyes of the man who barrelled at him.

Scrambling to his feet, Frank instinctively lowered himself easily into a fighters stance as he waited for the unavoidable impact of Michael's rage. Even then, he underestimated the power of the smaller man as he was launched backwards off his feet and came thudding to the ground behind him. Michael straddled his waist and raised his fists whilst drool flew from his mouth which was frozen in a snarl. Frank noted, in the split second it took for the blows to begin raining down upon him, that the man clutched something in his right hand.

The shock of the attack dulled the older Hardy's senses for a moment allowing Michael to land several blows which, whilst not well placed, fell like hammers. Fists hit Frank in the chest and neck stealing his breath. But it was the one which caught him across the forehead and caused blood to gush down the side of his face which both made him see stars and broke him from his daze.

Bucking his body, Frank threw Michael to the side, leaping to his feet and shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. He pulled his hand across his eye in an attempt to clear the stinging blood which had instantly streamed into it from his open wound. The rain, still managing to reach him through the broken parts of the roof, did nothing to help matters as it mixed with the blood making it a losing battle. Focusing on Michael, he landed a roundhouse kick to the smaller man as he launched himself from the floor screaming blue murder. The blow sent Michael reeling back to the ground where he instantly turned and re-flung himself at Frank.

"My god he's relentless!" Frank had time to think to himself, before he was once again brought crashing down to the ground. All the fight training he and Joe had gone through in their younger years was nothing when used against white hot hatred mixed with insanity. This time, however, Frank did not give Michael chance to land any blows. Instead he rolled again, Michael slipping from his body and thudding to the ground. Frank straddled his knees over the bucking man as he pinned his arms to the floor at the wrist and attempted to get through to him with words.

"Michael, MICHAEL!" he grunted out as the man's thrashings grew wilder once he realised he was incapacitated and panic set in.

"No, NO you won't take me back, I won't let you!" he screamed at Frank, his eyes rolling slightly in their sockets and spit flying out with his words "I won't let you! Stan! Stan help me! Stan. STAAN!"

"Stan..isn't..real!" Frank bit out between pants of breath. He could feel his strength failing a little as the beating he had taken mixed with the sheer psychosis driven power of his quarry started to take its toll. He would have to subdue Michael and soon. "He is a voice in your head Michael. Listen..to..me!"

At these words Michael seemed to grow, if possible, even stronger. Too many times he had been told that his only friend in the world was not real. He refused to listen. Refused to give in. Screaming in rage once more, he brought up his legs and launched Frank backwards. The elder Hardy's arm gave a sickening crack as he landed haphazardly on one of the silent machines littering the room. Moaning slightly he rolled to his side, clutching the injured appendage to his body as he brought himself to a crouched stance on his knees, willing himself to his feet as he looked up. Alarm filled his eyes as Michael came, once again, barrelling towards him. He stopped a few feet from the Hardy, bringing his leg back as he prepared to land a killing blow to Frank's head.

Powerless to stop him Frank could only cringe back slightly when he heard something which filled him equally with both elation and horror.

Joe Hardy had finally reached the scene. Standing, panting, in the doorway of the warehouse he had picked on a hunch, sounds of a struggle instantly had his attention from the other side of the vast building and he had launched himself across the space in time to see Michael running at his broken and bloodied brother, who was swaying slightly as he knelt on the ground.

"HEY!" he had bellowed at the top of his lungs, startling Michael out of his rage for a moment, his balance wavering as he brought back his leg in preparation for a kick.

Making eye contact with his brother, he saw the momentary look of relief on his face morph into one of horror as he realised Joe was alone and therefore also at the mercy of the madman before him. Joe only had time to take a step towards the two men before him before Michael, with a snarl, sent his foot forwards where it hit Frank in the face. His nose seemed to explode in a haze of blood as he finally succumbed to his beating and fell backwards into oblivion.

* * *

Well thur you go. My operation took more out of me than I thought it would because it went from being something simple which would take about a week to get over, to being something a little more than simple which is going to take six weeks to get over.

I've basically been wincing my way round the house (it was only meant to be a day case too but I ended up in hospital over night...much to my amusement) and now I'm at the point where it's been like three days and I'm well enough to mooch and be extremely bored, but not well enough to actually leave the house and do...anything.

But enough about that nonsense, all you need to know is that I'm back writing. And due to my lack of adventuring from the house, I can probably finish this puppy up within the next couple of days. Don't know if I'm going to write anything post that because I don't really have a solid idea yet. But I have enjoyed paddling in the Hardy universe so far.

Ramble much, I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyways. Comments and critiques are, as always, welcome!

Sarah

(side note: Frank on his knees, bloodied and soaked from rain was the image which started me off on this whole story. That was literally the only point of reference I had when I started writing..It originally started out as Joe but morphed into Frank as I cracked on.)


	8. Chapter 8

Cheeky little warning here before I crack on, there is a little bit of swearing in this chapter...not a lot. But just to let you know :D

* * *

For a beat after Frank hit the deck, all was silent in the warehouse. Even the pattering of the rain seemed to fade into the background as white noise filled Joe's ears. Rage began bubbling under the surface of his skin as with a dangerous measure of control, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the radio.

"CON!" he snarled into the receiver "Talbot warehouses, NOW!"

Throwing the device to the floor without waiting to check if the message had been received, all measure of calm left the young detective as with a roar of anger he launched himself across the remaining distance toward Michael's waiting form.

Joe made one mistake that Frank hadn't however. He assumed that the mere size of the smaller man was indicative of an easy target. His conscious mind blinded by rage and not computing the fact that even with his diminutive size he had managed to take down Frank Hardy, who had been extensively trained in several martial arts.

Hurtling across the room, he tackled Michael to the ground. Fully expecting that first assault to daze him enough to make the rest of the process easier, he instead found himself on the receiving end of a vicious punch which instantly re-opened the previously attained wound on his cheek.

Joe did not even feel the pain however, so maddened was he by the image of Frank swaying drunkenly and covered in blood as he had entered the warehouse. Leaning back he brought his own fist down in a returning punch, instantly leaving a welt on Michael's face which in turn only seemed to enrage the man more.

Michael wriggled from under Joe's body, turning long enough to direct a kick at his side which sent him crashing down and stole his breath.

Both men scrambled to their feet and stood apart from one another, the rage in their faces perfectly mirrored. It was seeing the hint of madness in Michael's eyes which staggered Joe a moment, almost as if he had taken another blow to the face. He stepped out of himself for an instant and took a slight calming breath. Remembering that the man before him spent most of his time believing a voice to be his friend, he instead attempted a calming tone and tried appealing to his saner side.

"Michael, we don't have to do this," he bit out, attempting to keep the broiling anger from his tone.

"You did this!" Michael spat back, a sneer clouding his features "Trying to take my angel. Trying to take her away from me again. Trying to take Stan!"

"Your...your angel doesn't belong to you Michael," Joe said, finally seeming to win the battle of his own emotions and injecting his voice with restraint "and Stan, Stan isn't real."

Once again these words flicked a switch in Michael, and with more speed than Joe thought possible he launched himself forwards, raining iron like blows down on Joe's face and shoulders.

"Forget this," Joe thought to himself as one of the fists split his eyebrow open and blood trickled down to meet the stream gushing down his cheek. The subdued anger surged back through him as with a snarl he brought his own fist back and caught Michael in the temple.

Michael was thrown backwards a few feet, unconscious before he even hit the ground. As he fell, something flew from his hand and clattered across the walkway, coming to a standstill as it bounced off the rusting machinery.

Joe took a flash of a second to heave a breath. The rage flushing out of him to instantly be replaced by concern for his brother. He turned, about to rush towards his prone figure when he heard something which sent both his heart racing and an icicle of fear through his body.

_Jooosephhhh_

Turning haltingly, his eyes widening in fear and confusion, he whipped his head towards Michael who was still out cold.

_Hello Joseph. Seems you were wrong about one thing. I think you'll find that I, am entirely... _

"Real."

Joe whipped round as the last word from the chilling voice seemed to come from the other end of the building. Stepping menacingly out of the shadows came the huge figure of a beast of a man. The most evil of smirks beneath the deadest eyes Joe had ever seen. This was a man who's entire body language spoke of having nothing to lose.

Joe's mind could not process this turn of events. His senses slightly dulled by the beating he had taken and sheer confusion racing through his body. Slowly looking at the man's hands, he noted that one held a particularly lethal looking hand gun, and in the other...

"What Joe? Oh...this?" the man's smirk grew wider as he brought the object forward and slowly wiggled it in the air.

A flash of understanding rocketed through Joe as his head whipped back to the item Michael had clutched to his breast during their fight which had clattered from his hand as he had fallen. The twin object to the one this man proffered...A two-way radio.

The realisation hit him like an actual force, sending him staggering back a step until he steadied himself with a hand on a a broken conveyor belt.

"Yo...you," he began looking back into the shark like eyes of the grinning man before him.

"Me, Joseph. All me. Meet...'Stan'," he said, his voice filled with mirth as he motioned again to the radio in his hand before, with one jerk of movement, tossing it with a massive heave to the floor where it smashed into a million pieces causing the younger Hardy to jump a little.

"But...why?" Though Joe was slowly understanding the magnitude of what the walkie talkies meant, there was still a gaping hole in the man's apparent motive.

"Why? Well to orchestrate a lovely coming home present for my dear old friend Fenton of course," Stan replied, the grin on his face beguiling the anger which suddenly flooded his voice.

"Wait...what?" Joe's brain was sluggishly attempting to figure out every word coming from Stan's mouth. "Who the hell are you?"

"The only name you need to know, Hardy," bit out the man, rage running barely veiled through his words although his exterior remained dangerously calm "is _Stan._"

He spat the word Stan out with a mocking edge. His grin widening and his eyes flashing a moment.

"Then..then all this," Joe said, motioning weakly with his arms "all this is some sort of elaborate...revenge mission?"

"Finally you're getting the picture. It's a shame your brother is out cold. He really must be the brains of the outfit," sneered Stan.

Ignoring the jibe, Joe continued "then two girls...lost their lives for _nothing." _His own anger was resurfacing as the slow process of working out what the hell was going on starting snapping bits of the puzzle into place.

"Haha! Oh, have I pissed you off there Joey? A little self righteous anger sent my way? Am I meant to play remorseful? You think I give a shit about the lives of some screwed up girls when my own life was ruined by your daddy?" Stan's calm facade slipped a little as he literally spat the last word towards Joe. "My only regret, is that we didn't get that pretty bitch of a girlfriend of yours before you sent her away. That would have been a cherry on top of the misery pie I plan on sending your father."

Joe literally saw red for a moment. No longer caring for his own safety, or even bothering to try to work through the current happenings, he charged towards Stan screaming words of hatred at him as his mind was filled with Vanessa.

Hitting into Stan was like running into concrete. The man barely leant backwards as he took the full force of the attack from the young Hardy. Joe snarled and balled his fists, landing one into Stan's washboard stomach and the other on the cheek of the smirking man before him.

Stan didn't even react for a moment. The first blow apparently glancing off his muscular frame. The second, however, had opened a split on his cheekbone which burst in a gleam of red. Joe, staggered for a second by this apparently mad man's lack of reaction, saw Stan cock his head slightly before snapping his own gaze to Joe's eyes.

Moving with cat-like grace he threw an uppercut at Joe's chin sending him crashing backwards into a railing. In a flash of movement he brought his other hand downwards, smacking the grip of the gun into the temple of the dazed man, bringing him down to his knees.

Slowly returning to his previous stance, he walked away from Joe. Barely conscious, Joe's stubborn nature was the only thing keeping him vaguely upright, rain mingling with the blood on his face turning it to a hideous mask.

Stan walked towards the prone form of Michael knowing, with a surety which on some level angered Joe, that the younger Hardy was no longer a threat.

"Ah Michael," he said, like a man talking to his dog. "You crazy little bastard."

"Y..you" spat Joe out through a mouthful of blood "you made him..crazy."

"Hah!" barked out Stan, glancing back at Joe "he was crazy long before I got to him Joseph. I just saw his potential. I knew how I could use him. After all, no one else bothered to talk to him when Jimmy was murdered and he was left all alone. I was the only one. And he craved it. He needed it." A sneer crossed his features as he focused back on Michael.

"Who the hell is Jimmy?" Joe asked, almost exasperatedly.

"You're not good enough to say. His. Name," Stan growled "Jimmy was this little moron's brother. My right hand man. Always used to bang on and on about how he was going to look after him, gonna make their lives right." His last words were said with almost a regretful air.

"You stopped talking to Michael...when we was sectioned," Joe said, still needing to piece together the puzzle through the cobwebs filling his mind.

"I didn't stop on purpose," Stan replied "I was sent to prison by your wonderful father. I wanted to use Michael. To kill the people who deserved to die. But it didn't work. Mikey here went and got himself caught by the police and sent to the loony bin. So I had to finish the work that we started..."

"And," Joe said, with a bark of laughter "I would have...gotten away with it..too if it weren't..for you pesky kids."

"Your dear old daddy," roared Stan, stalking his way over and crouching until he was eye to eye with Joe "stuck his nose in where it wasn't wanted. A _life_ sentence. Rotting in prison Joseph, forever, can you imagine that?"

"Nothing less..than scum like you deserves," Joe said with an attempted smile which came out more like a grimace.

Eyeing the swaying man before him, Stan let out a snort of laughter, before backhanding Joe in the mouth.

Joe smacked forward to his hands, still refusing to give in to the blackness which tunnelled his vision. He would have smiled if he could have through the split in his lip when Frank's voice seemed to fill his mind and berated him for continuing to poke the bear with a stick.

Stan stood once again, slowly moving back to Michael. Checking the gun's magazine he said "it pays to have friends on the inside, and so here I am. Admittedly a little later than I would have hoped. But still, better late than never."

"So you got...Michael to..murder those girls," Joe panted out, his words getting quieter as his vision grew foggier "just to get..our attention?"

"Can you blame me for wanting to add a bit of flare to the job?" Stan returned, equally as quiet as thoughts clouded his mind "it would have been too easy to break in and have you eat lead whilst you slept. No, I wanted Fenton to come home to a spectacular mess. It was simple getting Michael to go after those girls. He has a penchant for the ones with the soft, golden hair.."

"Eat lead..." Joe said aloud as a thought crossed his mind "...eat lead...it was you! You...killed them...you shot them."

"Ah, figured that one out on your own did you Hardy? Maybe you're not as dumb as you look," Stan replied, the sneer returning to his face. "Michael was taking too long pawing at them, his precious _angels_ so I had to step in and finish the job. Couldn't have the police coming across him early by accident and ruining the whole shebang now could I?"

Joe felt a pang of sadness shoot through him at the thought of the lonely and wretched existence Michael had lead which had driven him to take comfort in the lunatic parading in front of him now. His fading attention was brought back to the room by a clicking noise and Stan's quiet voice once more.

"Still, his part in this is finished now."

Joe barely had time to understand what Stan meant by that phrase, shouting out a "No!" as a bang filled the room. Stan had finally silenced the voices and put Michael out of his misery once and for all.

The gun smoked slightly in the man's hand as he focused for a second on the mess before him. Imperceptibly shrugging it off, he clicked the hammer back once again and turned, walking slowly towards an ailing Joe.

Joe, knowing that his own time had ran out, focused all of his energy into pulling himself back and sitting on his knees, a sneer marring his blood soaked face. Joe Hardy would not go out on all fours like an animal.

"It's almost a shame kid," Stan said, his shark eyes flashing once again as he took in the admirably stubborn man before him "in another life, me and you could be partners."

"In...any...life," Joe spat back "you'd..always..be a scumbag". With the last of his reserves, he grinned at the man before him, who with a snarl of rage pulled the gun up and aimed it at the younger Hardy's head.

A yell of pure animal fury distracted Stan for a moment as Frank Hardy threw himself through the air and charged straight at the man threatening his little brother. Stan grinned, his finger tightening on the trigger and the gun going off with a deafening boom at the very moment he was tackled to the ground.

"No!" Frank groaned as from the corner of his eye he saw Joe flung backwards by the impact of the bullet, hitting the floor and failing to get up again.

Stan got to his feet, cackling in pure crazed elation as he eyed the fallen Hardy.

"Too late there Frankie boy! And now, now it's your turn." He turned the gun on Frank, who scrambled unsteadily to his feet, his face unconsciously mimicking the stubborn look Joe had given Stan as he waited for his doom.

A gunshot echoed once again around the vast space of the warehouse. Stan's smile grew, if possible bigger. A low, husky chuckle erupting from his throat...as the blood slowly bubbled from corner of his mouth.

Frank's eyes opened widely as red blossomed on Stan's t-shirt, the stain growing quickly as his pierced heart pounded it's last beats. The gun fell from Stan's hand as he collapsed to his knees. The glitter in his sharks eyes snuffing as he finally face planted to the ground.

Frank whipped around, too quickly it seemed as his body protested and he staggered, falling to the ground again...but not before he saw Fenton, who stood brandishing his own pistol as police streamed into the warehouse behind him. The sounds of pounding feet and shouting voices muffled as darkness closed in on his mind once again, this time cushioned by the knowledge that their father was here and he would make everything better.

* * *

Well, you have no idea how much I have re-written this whole thing in my mind before getting it down on 'paper'. I hope it came off like I wanted it to. I know it could potentially be confusing. I don't think I have ever proof read something so much in my life! And I had to write a dissertation for uni!

Comments and critiques are welcomed :)

Sarah

(Also, I know it's a bit of a shorter chapter, but it felt like the right place to leave it...)


	9. Chapter 9

Fenton stood for a moment. His arm still raised. The gun smoking. The sounds of the room a million miles away as officers swarmed around him seemingly in slow motion. His eyes roamed first from one fallen son to the other before settling on the face of the man lying before him. A lesser man maybe would have felt hate. Hatred for the bastard who had harmed his sons. Fenton just felt numb.

Con chose that moment to take a measured step towards him, slowly taking the gun from his grasp and then quickly looping his arm through one of Fenton's as the man's knees gave way slightly.

With a sudden snap the room came back into focus, time caught up and the warehouse was filled with noise as Fenton broke from his reverie and was filled with an ice cold feeling of dread.

"Are they...?" he said, so low only Con could hear him over the clattering of feet as the teams of police attempted both to clear the building and work out what was going on.

Con caught the eyes of the officers who had bent down, pressing fingers to the throats of Fenton's boys in an effort to ascertain pulses. There was just so much blood... For a second which felt like a day Fenton held his breath, his knees giving slightly again when both officers nodded in his direction before barking into their radios for the on site ambulances to send in their EMTs.

Fenton, filled with a renewed vigour, left Con's grasp as he stiff legged his way to Frank who was closest. His steps building momentum before he threw himself to his knees at his eldest's side. Grasping the hand of Frank's arm which wasn't bent at a sickening angle, he placed his other against his son's face. Tears filling his eyes as he took stock of his injuries. Caked blood from a vicious forehead gash mixed with fresh blood slowly oozing from Frank's busted nose.

"Oh son," he said softly, brushing Frank's matted hair from his forehead.

It was something one of the EMT's said from behind him where Joe was lying, which his mind unconsciously picked out, that sent an even colder bolt of ice through his heart and had him whipping to his feet.

"...gunshot wound..."

Throwing himself to Joe's prone figure he was stopped by Con and fought against the man's firm pressure on his shoulders, so desperate was he to get to his youngest and check for himself what was going on.

"Fenton...FENTON, listen to me! You can't do anything for him now, let them work on him," Con bit out against his struggling friend's flailing arms.

"No Con I need to...I need to see him...I need to..." Fenton went limp for a moment before stepping back so quickly Con nearly lost his footing. The detective threw his hands to his head and raked his fingers through his hair in a motion reminiscent of one Frank so often did.

The men working around Joe, seeming to have four arms each, pulled gauze out to stem bleeding and checked vitals and brought oxygen. The paramedic who had been focusing his attentions on the gunshot wound looked up for a moment to shout to Fenton who was clearly on the edge of some sort of breakdown.

"It's a shoulder wound, seems it went fairly clean through. He should be fine. He's just lost a fair amount of blood."

"Oh..god," Fenton choked out, tears streaming down his face now as he focused on what had just been said. The ice thawing just a little from his body.

Con stepped back to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder as they watched stretchers being ran into the warehouse and lowered next to the prone figures, who somehow seemed so small and all too quiet.

"Da...Dad?" A voice so quiet it should have been lost amongst the shouts and hammering of the action in the room. But for Fenton, who was at that moment entirely tuned into the well being of his babies, the word sounded like it had been yelled.

Turning once more he barrelled towards Frank who was being safely strapped to the gurney**, **a frown marring his features and his eyelids fluttering slightly.

"Frank, oh Frank I'm here buddy, I'm here," Fenton said, laying his hand on Frank's once again.

"Is Joe..ok?" Frank managed to choke out through his busted up face.

"I don't know pal," Fenton said, his voice hitching slightly "I don't know but I hope so."

Frank nodded slightly, wincing, before darkness called him again.

Fenton's hand slipped from his son's as he was wheeled away, on route to the ambulance waiting to take off for the hospital. He bowed his head slightly, blinded by his tears as he turned back to where Joe was being strapped onto his own gurney**. **Gritting his teeth and bringing a hand up to clear his eyes he stalked over to Con.

"I need to be with them," he choked out, letting the officer know that on no uncertain terms was he waiting about to give any sort of statement until his boys were ok.

"That's fine Fenton, of course you do. Get to the hospital, and don't worry about Laura. I'll call and break the news as gently as I can."

Nodding once in thanks he followed Joe's stretcher out of the building. Hopping into the ambulance carrying Frank, he glanced back at the mess he was leaving behind him before the doors were shut and his view was cut off as the vehicle's engine roared to life and went screaming off on its way to the hospital.

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was the quiet mumbling which had woke him. Followed by the bright lights which were turning his world a vibrant red through his eyelids. Then pain, lots of pain. Frank hissed as aches from all over his body seemed to fight with each other as if vying for his attention.

"Frank?" His mother's voice, tinged with worry and thick with tears instantly seemed to calm him as well as make him feel a little guilty for letting on to his discomfort. He would try to make a concerted effort to tone down his reaction as much as he could. Or at least, that was the plan until he attempted to move his arm.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, his lids shooting open for a moment before blinking rapidly to clear his watering eyes. "Jeeze, what hit me?"

"Oh Frank," Laura said, a laugh escaping from her which was half sob.

"Hey buddy," Fenton said, moving into Frank's line of sight. "Might want to not move that arm for a little while...doctors orders." He motioned with his eyes to the sling looping round his son's neck.

"Ah...yes," Frank said, wincing slightly as he remembered the noise his arm had made when he was thrown into a rusted machine. "What's the damage?"

"You were lucky," Fenton said, though his eyes seemed to say otherwise. "Fractured arm, stitches in your head, slight concussion..and your nose got beat up pretty bad."

"I did wonder about this..." Frank said, trying to look at the wadding taking up half of his view and wincing again as a headache made itself known "what the hell went on in th..." Suddenly he stopped silent, his eyes widening again. "Dad! What about Joe? Where is he? He was...he was shot!"

Laura stifled another sob in a tissue in her hand as Fenton smiled down at Frank with sad eyes.

"He's going to be ok son. He's in surgery now, nothing major," he added as a flicker of terror crossed Frank's face. "The...the bullet went right through his shoulder. Didn't hit anything important so they're looking to clean it up and stitch it shut. You saved his life Frank."

"And you saved ours dad," Frank replied, his eyes filling slightly in relief. His face changed to one of confusion as a thought crossed his mind. "Why are you here anyway? Not that I'm not massively grateful that you are of course..."

Fenton's face suddenly became grim. "It's a bit of a long story Frank, probably best to wait until Joe can join us for that one before I launch into it. Let's just say for now though, that it was a good thing you sent me the file when you did."

Frank cocked a brow slightly at his father before slowly nodding, the movement causing another low hiss to emit from the Hardy as his head protested once again.

"How long am I being held hostage this time?" he asked, gesturing slightly at the hospital room with his good arm.

"They want to keep you in overnight at least," Fenton replied, a half grin breaking out as Frank groaned slightly. "You banged your head pretty hard champ."

"You mean Michael did..." Frank said, his face scrunching up as he remembered the madness in the man's eyes. "What happened to him anyway? And who was that guy..."

"Michael...didn't make it," Fenton replied sighing softly. "As to Stanley," he paused slightly as Frank gasped, "yes 'Stan' wasn't quite as imaginary as he may have seemed. That's another part of the long story you're going to have to be a bit patient for."

Frank nodded again, his eyes widening slightly as he remembered the reason they had been in the warehouse in the first place. "What about the girl?"

"She's fine, bit of a bump on the head as well and obviously a bit of shock. She'll be home before you are put it that way."

Frank sighed in relief, suddenly overcome with the urge for a nap as his eyelids felt like lead weights. Laura noticing her sons drooping eyes pulled her chair slightly closer to his bed and held his hand. Stroking it softly she leant forward and planted a kiss gently on his forehead.

"Go to sleep Frank, we'll wake you when there's news on Joe."

Frank could only smile in response as her words seemed to grow quieter and he drifted slowly off to sleep.

* * *

When he next awoke, it was with a feeling of more vigour if not less pain. Still aching, he turned his head toward Laura who was staring out of the window at the nights sky.

"Mom?" She jumped slightly before turning to face her son with a smile on her face. Her eyes were red and tired looking, but she seemed happier than she had earlier.

"Hello sweetie," she said, moving back to her vigil at his bedside.

"Joe?"

"Your father is with him now. He's out of surgery. They managed to sew him up nicely...said it should only..only leave a little scar." Her eyes filled again slightly but she swallowed the emotion, happy that her youngest was going to be ok.

"Is he awake?" Frank asked, reaching out his hand to hold his mother's.

"No, they're letting him sleep as long as he needs to. He's been through a lot. You both have. I wish you didn't have such awfully dangerous jobs," Laura replied, a slight edge to her tone as she thought of how close she had come to losing her sons.

"Hey mom, c'mon, it's not always dangerous...what about those wonderfully safe hours we spend sitting in cars on stakeouts...or Joe's favourite past time, paperwork," Frank's attempt at humour died with his grin as his mind flashed back to Joe slamming to the ground after he had been shot. He needed to see for himself that his brother was ok.

"I need to see Joe," he said, not realising he had voiced his thoughts out loud until he noticed Laura nodding slightly in his peripherals.

"I thought you might say that. The doctor said you can have a short visit. But you're going in a wheelchair. Ah..ah.." she said, stifling Frank's instant protestations "those are the rules young man. Take it or leave it."

"Ok, ok," Frank said with a sigh, frowning at the offending object as Laura stood and wheeled it over to the bed. Laura smiled to herself as Frank grumbled once he was seated in a way which was entirely reminiscent of her youngest son.

* * *

They had all been here far too many times than was comfortable. Frank sighed as he eyed Joe's sleeping form. Hooked up to wires and surrounded by bleeping machines. One side of his face was a spectacular bruise, offset by the brilliant white of gauzes and tapes which covered the gashes on his cheek and brow. They seemed to be trying to compete with the paleness of what little skin was not marred by cuts and bruises. As he was propped up slightly, the extensive bandages covering the shoulder which had been penetrated by the bullet were also visible. A spot of blood contrasted against them starkly.

Sighing again, Frank decided that being the unconscious one was definitely the easier of the two slightly morbid jobs that seemed to come with the detective territory. He had been left alone for a moment with Joe, strictly a short time frame allotted by the doctor overseeing both brother's well being.

"Ah little brother," Frank said, a slight smile on his face "see this is what happens when you smart talk the bad guys. How many times have I told you?"

Frank had been entirely out of it during Joe's one on one with the man he now knew as Stanley, but he had become more and more lucid as time had gone by leading up to his flying tackle. He had heard enough of Joe's retaliations to earn him a thorough smack upside the head...once he was well enough to take it of course.

Frank could almost feel the lack of response from his brother. The only time he was ever this still was in hospitals. Joe was forever moving, filled with a sort of nervous energy which defined him as the impetuous of the two. Even asleep he was a fidget. Thinking about that brought another smile to Frank's face. His own eyes closed slightly as the constant beeping in the back of his consciousness lulled his weary body into an easy sleep as he sat vigil over his little brother.

* * *

Something bounced off his forehead. Wincing as the headache, albeit slightly lessened from the previous day, made itself known. He shifted slightly, only opening his eyes as something pinged off his head once again.

Frowning in confusion Frank looked up into the deviously gleeful, if tired looking, face of Joe who had been busy rolling balls of tissue and using his brother's face for target practise.

"Joe!" he exclaimed, sitting up a little too quickly as his injuries clamoured in protest.

"I got bored of waiting...for you to wake up," Joe said a little breathlessly, clearly feeling his own considerable aches and pains.

"Well, if there's one thing I need it's more head injuries," Frank said, his voice filled with mirth as he noted that Joe's cheeks had flushed with colour since the previous evening.

"The sympathy vote won't work on me Frank," Joe said a little self importantly "we might have matching slings but a bullet wound beats broken bones any day of the week."

"This is not some sort of twisted top trumps Joseph," Fenton said, entering the room and catching the last sentence out of his youngest's mouth.

Joe just grinned in reply, before shifting his weight and blowing out his cheeks slightly as the movement caused pain to shoot through his shoulder.

"Serves you right," Frank said, half joking, half sympathetic. He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his good arm as he attempted to work the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. This was not the first time he had fallen asleep by Joe's bedside but it seemed that even with all his practise, he would never be able to work out a comfortable position.

"How are you both feeling?" Fenton said, standing by Frank and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"A little rough round the edges," Joe replied. "And more than a little confused about how I'm not dead right now."

"Your brother rugby tackled Stanley and saved you from ending up with a new sun roof," Fenton said, a slight sad twinkle in his eye belying the humour in his tone as he thought about how lucky Joe had been.

"Way to go Frank!" Joe said with a grin. "Although, you could have done a better job," he added, motioning to his wadded shoulder "what am I supposed to do with this exactly?"

"Honestly, you throw yourself at a mad man and save a guys life, and what thanks do you get?" Frank said in mock exasperation.

Joe grinned at Frank before his face turned a little graver. "Thanks Frank," he said simply, the two words conveying how much he genuinely owed his brother.

"Anytime," Frank replied, the humour still in his voice but both men knowing that it too was meant entirely too truly. "Any way," he added "who would I find to replace you? I don't know anyone brave enough to try to tackle the heap of crap on your desk."

"Hilarious," Joe said, jumping slightly as the door to his room clattered open, his face breaking into a happy smile as he saw who had entered. A tear streaked and slightly wild looking Vanessa had arrived on the scene, her eyes filling again as she took in the bruised and beaten men before her.

"Oh Joe," she said with a sob, rushing to his bedside as Frank looked up to his father, who winked over at Joe before tactfully wheeling Frank out of the room and giving his son some privacy.

* * *

The next few days passed with an all too practised air at attempting to keep Joe amused whilst he complained relentlessly about being stuck in hospital. Frank having been discharged the next morning seemed only to add fuel to his fire as he whined and moaned, all the while playing the sympathy card and shamelessly receiving any attention lavished upon him by a doting Vanessa.

After five, almost insufferable days, Joe was allowed to leave the hospital with strict instructions to rest and recuperate. Only his mother threatening to leave him behind worked to get him into the wheelchair provided. Thus with much grumbling and, quiet, protest did the youngest Hardy bid goodbye to his hospital stay. Laura would not hear of him being anywhere but home for his prescribed bed rest, and graciously extended an invitation for Vanessa to stay for as long as was needed to get him back on his feet.

So the Hardy troop and Vanessa made their way back to the family home where Laura had already no doubt started preparing the beginnings of a giant evening meal, Frank having been persuaded to stay the night also.

Later with the hustle of the day complete, the men sat in the warmth of the living room. Joe lay spread eagle on the sofa, the small journey tiring him more than he would have ever let on to anyone. It was at this moment Frank chose to ask the question which had been burning in his mind for the last few days.

"So dad, who was Stan?"

Fenton sighed a little as he shuffled in his seat to a more upright position and looked at his two boys.

"Stan...or Stanley Geoffrey to be precise, is someone I have had the pleasure of meeting once before," he began, his eyes misting a little in memory.

"Yeah," Joe said with a snort "he kinda mentioned that." Joe had filled Frank in on all the details he had missed whilst he had been flat out on the floor. Bits Frank had remembered, but it was like thinking through mud when he tried to recall the words.

"Stanley was once the leader of a small gang out in New York," said Fenton "just a little outfit. Mostly involved in petty thefts, laundering, loan sharking. Stuff which kept them on the radar but out of the cells. Now there was a rival gang, headed by an old friend of Stan's."

"Jeeze, I feel scummy enough just having been one of his enemies," Joe said with an exaggerated shudder that trailed off in a wince of pain as he jostled his shoulder "never mind being one of that creep's friends."

"Well they weren't very good friends, not at that time any way," Fenton replied "the rival leader, Toby Kingston, decided he didn't want them on their patch any more. They'd had a dispute, and Toby managed to point the police their way in relation to a couple of murders which had happened a few months previous...money related murders which had seemed to have no suspects. But not before Toby took care of a couple of Stan's 'members', including his right hand man."

"Jimmy?" Frank asked, remembering the name from his and Joe's discussion.

"Michael's brother," Joe added, sadness marring his features as he thought again about the wretched man.

"Jimmy," Fenton confirmed with a nod of his head. "Stan managed to get away from the police when they came calling and set about planning his revenge."

"Stan said something about...using Michael. To kill 'the people who deserved to die'," Joe piped up, his face scrunched as he tried to remember Stan's words.

"He sent him after Toby's daughter first," Fenton replied, waiting a second for the information to click with his sons.

"The girl who's room he was caught in?" Frank said a moment later.

"Yes, Angel Kingston."

"Angel," Joe breathed. Thinking of Michael repeating the word over and over as he had babbled during their brief conversation. "I bet she was pretty and blonde too?"

Fenton nodded slowly before saying "he was clearly trying to set Michael up. Michael might have had a murderer in him but luckily, for Angel anyway, he was caught and sectioned so he didn't have a chance to try. Not that they knew it at the time."

"So he meant to get to Toby through his daughter using Michael. But that went belly up when Michael was caught. Stan said something about having to finish what they'd started," Joe replied.

"And by that he meant killing Toby, his wife and a couple of his gang members," Fenton said nodding. "I was eye deep in the investigation that brought him down. I remembered hearing about Michael stalking Angel. It was that which tipped me off when you sent the file. Michael Thompson mentioning a Stan and being so closely connected to her. It obviously sent alarm bells ringing. I figured he must be involved somehow. I put a call in to the prison he was meant to be at. Turned out he had flown the joint so I got on the first flight home."

"Lucky for us that you did," Frank said, smiling at his father.

"Incidentally the case I was on turned out to be a wild goose chase, and I'm pretty sure it was rigged up by none other than Stanley himself," Fenton replied.

"That would explain how he knew you were out of town," Joe said "he was crowing about the mess you'd find on your return."

"It's just a damn shame that no one took Michael at his word. If they had just found the radio then all of this could have been avoided," Frank said, his thoughts too turning to Michael and his unfortunate end.

"True," Fenton said, "it seems he was on his way to as normal a life as he could have without Jimmy looking out for him. He had help and a job, a home. But then Stanley returned to the scene and he lost it all."

"If anyone was crazy, it was Stanley," said Joe, his face darkening as he remembered the glittering eyes of the man who had almost cost him and his brother's lives.

"We were all lucky," Fenton said, a hard edge to his own tone.

"Have you spoken to Con since the hospital?" Frank asked. Con had shown up the day after the boys had been admitted, two thirds concern and one third spitting fire as they had been injured on his watch. Once he realised both Hardys were going to be ok, he had wasted no time in pulling them through the ringer. Anger abated, he had returned to the good natured man they all knew. Albeit slightly rumpled and overdue a long nights sleep.

"I have, they've tied up all the loose ends and are currently snowed under in the paperwork," Fenton replied.

"Speaking of paperwork.." Joe began, a twinkle in his eye as Frank looked over at him grinning, "now me and Frank are officially out of commission on doctors orders for a while..our own pile of admin is going to have grown."

"And since you're the only able bodied detective available right now..." Frank added. His own face lit up in amusement.

"The doctor only said you had to take it easy," Fenton replied, "and who has ever considered paperwork heavy lifting?"

In response both brothers simply pointed at their respective injured arms, managing to hold the gravely serious expressions they were pulling for all of three seconds before they broke down in laughter at the aghast look on Fenton's face.

Luckily for the older detective, he was saved from having to respond by the appearance of Laura's head around the door as she announced that it was time for dinner.

* * *

Bit of a monster chapter but I didn't know if I was going to wrap it up in one or two chapters. Turned out it was one with an epilogue.

I apologise for the delay between updates. I apparently find writing the action bits easier than the wrap up. This was written in tidbits over several days. I hope it all makes sense!

All comments and critiques welcome.

Sarah


	10. Epilogue

It was dark in the Hardy household. After an evening filled with drinks, merriment and altogether too much food, both Frank and Joe had retired early. Their respective prides had had them pitted in a battle of wills against being the first to give into their injuries and admit that they were tired, which had resulted in Joe almost falling from his chair as the post dinner conversation had lulled him off to sleep. Laura had shepherded both her boys up to their old bedrooms, Vanessa supporting a yawning Joe as they bid goodnight to her and Fenton. It would be a rocky road to recovery. Bruises were already turning their sickly shades of yellow. Wounds were knitting together and bones fusing. Aches and pains would be the norm for the weeks to come but they were healing.

Fenton had promised his wife he would not be long up to bed, citing a need to go over some notes before he hit the hay. So he found himself, sitting in the darkness of his study but for a lamp which illuminated his features. His face drawn in frowning thought as he mulled over the events of the last few days.

He knew in his soul that the only course of action had been for him to take Stan out. If he hadn't pulled the trigger first then he doubtless would have lost Frank to the madman. But there was still a lead weight on his heart and his mind as he thought about the lives which had been lost in this case and the life which had been taken by him. To kill a man was a heavy burden to bear. Even one who was as crazy as Stanley had been. But he also knew with a dead certainty, that if he was ever in the same position again and one of his family was in danger, he would pull the trigger a hundred times if he had to. There was no doubt about it. The thought both frightened and comforted him.

Comforting because it was a morbid confirmation, albeit one he would have preferred to have avoided, that he would do anything for his family. Frightening because it showed him that on some level, every person was capable of killing another. But something would separate people like Fenton from people like Stan. Stan's heart had been full of bile and bitter hatred. The force driving Fenton was one which strived for justice against the evils of men like Stanley.

Leaning back into his chair Fenton sighed, bringing his hands over his face for a moment and rubbing them into his eyes. Standing he turned off his lamp, thoughts of Stan banished as he remembered with a thankful smile that he had his family with him under one roof for the evening. He would sleep well tonight.

* * *

END!

Well, that was a ride. Thanks to everyone who came along with it, and another thank you to the people who have taken the time to review. I will go back at some point and fix the problems which were pointed out in the earlier chapters. I've been learning as I was writing this one.

I've had fun messing about in Hardy land. I don't have any plans to write another unless some plot forms off in my peripherals. Might be I get a flash of a scene again and then have to figure out the rest as I go along...not the best way to write a story I guess but it kept me thinking all the way through!

Thanks again. Any comments or critiques are, as always, welcome!

Sarah


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